


Of Fathers, Sires and Destinies

by aceofhearts88



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Rhaegar lives, F/M, Fight for the Dawn, Jon's name is not Aegon, Long Night, M/M, Post-Season/Series 06 AU, Prophecies, Season 7 AU, and then Fight for the Iron Throne, but with a twist, more orientated on the show than the books, some other characters are also not dead, there are other relationships and characters mentioned in this, this is gonna grow slowly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofhearts88/pseuds/aceofhearts88
Summary: When Ned Stark died in King's Landing, Jon Snow knew that the truth about his mother died with him, and in the events that followed that question entirely left his mind. How would something like that matter to the King in the North who had to fight on all fronts while no one believed his telling of the Great War that was more important than some throne to sit down on. For all that Jon cared, they could cut themselves down in the South once the real enemy was defeated.On Dragonstone, stuck in a match of stubbornness against the Dragon Queen, it's a dragon and dead people who turn everything upside down.Suddenly winning one war means having to fight the other.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Season 7 AU that will in the beginning still happen closely to the episodes but then deviate greatly and go beyond the season finale. It is in parts also a season six AU, because two events did not happen the way they were portrayed on the show.  
> \- Barristan Selmy didn't die because a man like him deserves a better ending than in some back alley being stabbed in the back  
> \- the events seen in Bran's vision of the Tower of Joy are slightly different, as in we didn't see the end of the fight between Ned's men and the Kingsguard, hence we didn't see Arthur Dayne die, like imagine some scene cut when Howland approaches Arthur from behind over to Ned rushing up the stairs  
> \- how Rhaegar survived will be explained in the story
> 
> This story will focus mostly on Jon and how he deals with revelations, events, changes and the wars to come, which does not mean that there won't be chapters written from other characters' point of views also.
> 
> I also want to say that I am writing this story for myself and that I decided to post it along while writing it because I think some people might like it as well. If something does not please you in the plot or description of characters or events that unfold in this story, as well as pairings that develop, I politely ask you to keep it to yourself and search yourself something else to read. I do not find it helpful or kind at all when someone writes a comment about how they do not like the story, I do not get paid to do this, it is my own decision to offer this up for other people to read. If you don't like it, stop reading and look up another story in the many many choices on this side, please do not tell me how I have to write my own story.
> 
> That having been said, if there are ever any questions because something might be unclear or confusing, you are of course more than welcome to leave a comment and I will try to clear things up.

„ _The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother...I promise._ “ - Ned Stark

\--

„ _Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly. And Rhaegar died._ “ - Jorah Mormont

\--

_'They whispered of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, deadliest of the Seven Knights of Aerys' Kingsguard, and of how their young lord had slain him in single combat.'_ \- Catelyn Stark

\--

" _A Targaryen...alone in the world...is a terrible thing._ " - Maester Aemon

**Character Overview:**

As wished an overview over especially the OC characters. I chose to not include many characters who died previous to the shows beginning or those who have died pre season 7, which is why there are so few Starks listed. The ages of the younger generation is based on the **show** timeline and is therefore different to those given to them in the books.

**Daynes:**  
 **Andric Dayne** , current Lord of Starfall  
married to **Eyrin Gargalen**

**Edric Dayne** , born in 287

**Arthur Dayne** , died in 281 (a lie made by Ned Stark)  
 **Ashara Dayne** , died in 281 (a lie made Andric Dayne)

**Torrhen Sand** born in 280 (her bastard son by Brandon Stark)  
**Elianna Sand** born in 284 (her bastard daughter by Oberyn Martell)

**Allyria Dayne**  
married to **Tormo Fregar** , the new Sealord of Braavos

**Alaeric Fregar** , born in 282  
multiple younger sisters

**Starks:**  
 **Sansa Stark** , born in 285, Lady of Winterfell, currently in Winterfell  
married to **Tyrion Lannister** , Hand of the Queen for Dany (marriage got annulled by Tyrion)  
 **Arya Stark** , born in 287, whereabouts as of yet unknown  
 **Brandon Stark** , born in 288, whereabouts of yet unknown  
 **Benjen Stark** , born in 267, former First Ranger in the Night's Watch, now Watcher beyond the Wall

 **Targaryens:**  
 **Rhaegar Targaryen** , former Crown Prince, died in 281 (but resurrected)  
married to **Elia Martell** , died in 281

**Rhaenys Targaryen** , died in 281  
**Aegon Targaryen** , died in 281

married to **Lyanna Stark** , died in 281

**Jaehaerys "Jon" Targaryen** , born in 281, died in 302 (but resurrected)

**Daenerys Targaryen** , born in 282  
married to **Khal Drogo** , died in 298

**Rhaego** , stillborn in 298

Others:  
 **Barristan Selmy** , Lord Commander of the Queensguard for Dany  
 **Cersei Lannister** , current Queen on the Iron Throne  
 **Jaime Lannister** , Lord Commander of the Queensguard for Cersei  
 **Brienne of Tarth** , Sworn Sword of Sansa  
 **Davos Seaworth** , Hand of the King for Jon  
 **Petyr Baelish** , currently in Winterfell  
 **Tormund Giantsbane** , currently guarding Eastwatch-by-the-Sea  
 **Gendry Waters** , one of Robert Baratheon's bastards, whereabouts currently unknown 


	2. Prologue

###  _Volantis, four years after Robert's Rebellion:_

Arthur Dayne breathed out deeply when he caught sight of the iron gates and the guards positioned on either side in the shadow of the palm trees. Both of them inclined their heads when they saw him approach, greeting him back and he staid for short small talk, assured himself that everything had been without troubles.

He handed over the tobacco with a bright grin and Rys and Ako thanked him profoundly before opening the gate for him. Arthur stepped through and grinned when the smell of lemon trees hit his nose, a balm after a week on that damned ship, the shadows of the trees were soothing after the long treck up in the sun from the city harbor.

He sensed the eyes on him when the white house was already in good view, and he smiled, mockingly sliding his right hand up towards the hilt of the greatsword he carried on his back.   
„Who goes there?“ He called out in Valyrian, trying very hard to keep the amusement out of his voice when he heard the faint giggle, „Who dares to lay a trap for the Sword of the Morning? Show yourselves!“

High voices screamed and shrieked in imitated battle crys as the children tumbled out of the ferns and hedges, the two boys wielding their wooden swords and the girl throwing herself at his cloak for distraction. Arthur laughed and went down onto one knee, arms coming up to let his arm guards catch the hit of both wooden swords on either side, twisting a little to the side so the small girl wouldn't hit her head against Dawn in her scabbard.

„Well done.“ He praised his nephews and reaching quick, he pulled both boys into his arms, „Oh, I have missed you. Let me look at you.“ Arthur demanded with a smile, Torrhen straightened up first and showed a tooth gap in his bright roughish smile, he had grown again, like a weed and Arthur had barely been six weeks gone, „You're gonna grow taller than the palm trees still.“ He joked and flicked the boy's nose before turning to the smaller fair haired boy leaning against Arthur's knee.

„I missed you, Uncle.“ Alaeric chirped and Arthur laughed, ruffling through the boy's blond hair, blue eyes twinkled back at him at the gesture.  
„I have missed you, too, little star. When did you arrive?“ Arthur wanted to know from his younger nephew, Allyria's firstborn, as he went back to his feet and swept the olive skinned girl with the nearly black locks up into his arms, settling her giggling self onto his hip. 

„Three nights ago.“ Alaeric recalled and took great note of how his cousin sheathed his wooden sword at his belt before clumsily doing the same. „We'll stay more. Mama has business..“ He sounded mighty proud of having remembered it.  
„I am very happy about it.“ Arthur told him, „And now, back to play, supper will come early enough and I need some rest after my travels. Tomorrow, you can both show me what you learned while I was gone.“

Torrhen and Alaeric both nodded in content and then dashed off again, loud voices fading into the distance while they chased each other into the deep garden. Protected by the walls and the guards as the house was, there was nothing to worry about. Arthur made his way towards the house again, in his arms Eliana laid her head against his shoulder, quietly showing her joy at having him back. He smiled, leaned his head against the top of hers for a moment, felt that soft hair against his cheek.

„And how does my little princess fare?“ He asked and big violet eyes looked at him, his sister's eyes, it was his greatest joy and his greatest doom that both of his older younger sister's children had inherited her haunting violet eyes but came after their respective fathers in all other appearances sakes.  
„Happy. Uncle back.“ Rhaena smiled at him, quiet little voice singing with childish glee, before she leaned closer to him as Arthur climbed up the stairs to the open entrance arch of the house he shared with Ashara and her children. „Have guest.“ His niece whispered to him, „Really pretty. Hair look like silver, Uncle.“

Arthur blinked at her for a moment in surprise, he had never shunned his sister for her chosen way of going about life, he knew she had lost heavy and hard. He had only ever given her one condition for his promise to let her have her freedom, to keep it away from their home and the children. Before he could pose any questions thought to try and get more information out of his little oblivious niece, Eliana already spoke up again.

„Aunt Ally bring him. From Braavos. Mama loud and then cried. Aunt Ally sent away, play.“ Eliana told him and Arthur frowned, at both Allyria bringing a man along from Braavos who was not her husband or guard and Ashara's confusing reaction. He stopped in the courtyard and set Eliana down on a bench when two maids rushed forward.

He took off the travelling armor and cloak and handed both to them but kept a hold of Dawn until Milo appeared to take her to Arthur's chambers. Without the burden of armor and sword he already felt less exhausted and chased Eliana to the back of the house where he was sure his sisters and their guest would enjoy the shadow tranquil of the sunsails.

Eliana dashed out through the wide arcades grown over with vines but Arthur slowed his steps, wanted to make a more dignified entrance in case it was someone of importance. 

It was.

Oh, how it was.

Laughter could be heard as he neared the corner from behind which he would have a direct view of the table where they took their meals when the weather agreed, and then his youngest sister's voice talking in the Common Tongue. Arthur nearly missed most of it so long did it take for his mind to adjust, had it really been that long again?

„Asha...“ He froze in the middle of calling out his sister's name as he rounded the pillar and his entire body turned to ice right there in mid movement as his eyes caught sight of their guest. For a long moment his mind was utterly blank and every muscle inside of him completely locked up, like a mummer's puppet who had been paused mid-performance because of unforseen circumstances.

„Arthur!“ 

He didn't even know which sister it was who had spoken when his mind suddenly burst into loud voices, screaming, demanding, yelling, crying out, too much sensations and too many questions, and how, how in the Seven, how by the gods, old and new. How...

His knees gave away and he hit the stone hard, chest burning when he couldn't breathe and his palms followed his knees, slapping violently against the stone slaps. Chairs were pushed back loudly and Eliana whimpered, and then footsteps.

Footsteps rushing over, a body kneeling down in front of him, hands reaching for his shoulders, pulling him upright again. Eyes looking at him, a hand coming up to frame his face on one side.

„How“ was the only word Arthur could force past his lips while he drank in every inch of the other's face, was too afraid to look away, afraid to blink and he would vanish, would have only been a figment of his imagination, just a blip because he was too exhausted and hadn't had enough to drink again. 

„The wishes of a god we both don't believe in.“ The other said and Arthur choked up at the sound of his voice, and he didn't even care about the how and where and what, at least not now. Shakingly he brought a hand up himself, terror seizing his heart that his image could crumble away with just the softest touch and Arthur would only find himself confronted with concerned sisters.

His hand touched skin.

Warm soft skin and a tear trailed down his cheek.

„Rhaegar...“


	3. Chapter 1 - Memories on Dragonstone

It was sureal. 

The sadness that had hit him when Dragonstone had built itself up on the horizon, the pain that had pierced his chest like a sword when the ship had anchored and they waited for the boats to be lowered into the water. Barristan Selmy couldn't rip himself away from the view of the castle high up on the cliffs.

The dragons were already flying around the towers, diving down the cliffs into the sea. Barristan had to close his eyes briefly to force his view away. 

„How long has it been?“ Tyrion spoke up, coming to stand next to him, Barristan cursed himself for not having heard him approach.   
„Long.“ Barristan answered him curtly, not in the mood for chatting, not when his ears rang with laughter of a dead girl and his mind felt heavy with the flashes of violet eyes staring out across the ocean from the windows in the room with the map table.

He should have been prepared, he should have used any day of their weeks long journey to think about how hard it would be to come back. Here of all places. Instead he had ignored it, had pushed it all away, to be hit with memories now with a wild abandon that had him breathless.

Down in the boat, Grey Worm and his men rowing them to shore, Barristan kept his hand tight on the pommel of his sword until his treacherous heart reminded him who had once held just this sword at his first training with steel. The prince had been older than most boys who learned to fight and Barristan had been more than hesitant to let him go up against his friend who was further along in his skills than most grown seasoned warriors Barristan had known. 

But Arthur was honorable above perfect and he had never come close to hurting his best friend even without ever holding back. Always full strength, always full potential, and maybe he had been the real teacher in the end, always pushing Rhaegar on and on. Never jesting, never arrogant, that boy had never known how to be arrogant, there had not been a selfish bone in that body. He had wanted his best friend to come to the best of his abilities and pushed him to get there. 

Daenerys squeezed his hand where she was sitting next to him and Barristan found her eyes set on the looming black walls of the castle. This was her home, this was the place she had been born in. He squeezed her hand back briefly and then took a deep breath, it was going to be okay.

\--

Finding the castle in disarray and covered in the remains of a Baratheon household was almost a relief, not that the castle itself wasn't already overflowing with dragons but seeing the banners, Barristan was sure his knees would have caved in. 

Daenerys asked him where the throne room lay and he pointed her in the right direction but couldn't follow, couldn't even think about following. The last time he had seen that throne, Rhaegar had been sitting in it, listening to Captain Velaryon's complaints about the Iron Born trading ships. Arthur standing next to him as always, desperately trying to keep his stance and focus while Rhaenys insistently kept pulling on his cloak, kitten at her heel as always.

His Queen understood his plea even without him really putting it into words and she quietly told him to give some directions to Grey Worm and Missandei so they could guide their men's directions before finding a room for himself and get some rest.  
„I can do so, Your Grace.“ Varys spoke up from their right, „I have not been here as continous as Ser Barristan once had but I do know the castle and its grounds.“ Daenerys showed herself thankful and though Barristan still did not entirely trust the Spider he nodded and turned to walk over into the Guard Tower. 

The room he had once occupied had turned out to be used as a storage room for armor and weapons, all branded with stags, and being too tired and too drained he did not have any interest in shifting it to another room. Instead he went up another floor. Dragonstone had been built to the likes of a full Royal Palace, and the Guard Tower had been grand enough to host a full bodied Kingsguard, but upon becoming the Crown Prince's residence, it had never really been fully manned.

Arthur and him had been the only ones when Rhaegar and Elia had spent their years here before Harrenhall, and they had had far more space for themselves than in the Red Keep's White Tower. Barristan didn't know how long Willem had spent here with the Queen and Viserys before Daenerys' birth and the flight to Essos, he knew even less which rooms he might have taken.

But he did know that even he would have never touched the room on the top floor of the tower, just like in the White Tower, that room had belonged to Arthur Dayne. Always closest to the stars. The room was untouched, a miracle really. Not locked, not at all, dusty and cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, but still looking like Arthur might be sitting on the window edge, polishing a sword that wouldn't need polishing, looking out over the ocean and up into the night sky.

With Rhaegar cross-legged on the ground below him, plucking at his harp until Arthur kicked at him to play something real. And Rhaegar would start the „Ode to the Sword of the Morning“, smirking and stopping only when Arthur would raise Dawn threateningly close to the harp's strings.

Barristan closed the door, took off his sword, unclasped his cloak and took off the outer layer of tunics. He set down on the edge of the bed, sank his face into his hands and wept.

\--

He fell asleep when he ran out of tears, exhausted beyond belief, more exhausted than any battle had ever made him. It was dark when he woke to a knock on the door, but he declined Missandei's offer to join them for dinner and she didn't ask twice. He needed time alone, until it stopped feeling like every breath might slice him in half. 

He spent some time dusting off the room, not knowing when he had even decided to stay here instead of maybe asking someone for help to empty the one below. 

\--

He didn't really start settling in until some days had passed and though he still hadn't ventured anywhere close to the throne room, the small council chamber or especially the Royal apartments, he had walked throught he castle without feeling like the walls were closing in on him.

One morning he searched his new room before finally wanting to unpack his belongings.

The desk and its drawers were empty, Arthur had never been the greatest letter writer, had only ever reluctantly written to his sisters. Nor had he been an avid reader - _„Books? Why would I need books? I got Rhaegar for that.“_ \- the only things that had graced his rooms aside from clothes, weapons and cleaning kits, had been trinkets. Little figurines his sisters had gifted him with, a silver star that Barristan had only ever been able to guess had come from Princess Elia.

And most of all things that Rhaegar had left behind all the time.

Barristan didn't expect to find anything really, Rhaegar and Arthur had been aware more than anyone else that they wouldn't return too quickly once they left to travel to Harrenhall. Arthur wouldn't have left anything behind. The more surprised he was when he found it on the bottom of the closet. 

Silver.

He was already kneeling, otherwise it would have brought him to his knees. The silver circlet crown with the red rubies was discarded into a corner as if it had fallen down and been forgotten. How that could have happened was a puzzle to Barristan, Rhaegar had certainly been wearing a crown at Harrenhall's feasts. 

But here it was. 

The one he had cherished the most because it was the simplest. 

Barristan picked it up and wiped the dust off of it, rubbed at the rubies with the bedsheet until they glimmered. 

\--

One of the Dothraki opened the door of the throne room for him without any prompting but Barristan still needed a long moment until he could really step inside, standing in the door with frozen feet. Having seen the Targaryen banners flying in the castle and on the grounds again had been one thing, but here in this room, it felt all the more real. 

Daenerys was looking at him where she was sitting on the throne, patiently waiting for him to be ready, they had talked only briefly in the last days while everyone had in their own way gotten the castle running. A word here and there, her always asking him if he was alright and Barristan never knowing how to truly answer her. 

Not yet.

With the crown wrapped into a cloth at his side he made slow steps into the room, Tyrion and Missandei didn't stop their conversation over the messages ravens had carried from the Reach and Dorne, but Barristan knew they had noticed him as well.

Daenerys wore one of her light blue dresses and Barristan couldn't have been more grateful, the contrast to Rhaegar's always brooding black tunics grand enough to keep his mind from drifting too far off.

_„Why are you complaining about my clothes? The only color I see on you nowadays is white.“_   
_„I don't exactly have a choice, my friend.“_   
_„If I feel the desire to garb myself in bright yellow and pink, you'll be the first to know, I promise you, Arthur.“_

„Your Grace.“ Barristan announced himself and Daenerys had the Dothraki close the doors again as he finally managed to step forward, stopping at the bottom of the steps. „I have found something that should belong to you now.“ Daenerys stood up and made her way down to him, Tyrion and Missandei stopped their back and forth, watching them with curious eyes. Barristan pulled the cloth back and Daenerys gasped quietly, fingers carefully reaching out to touch the crown.

„My brother's?“ She guessed correctly and Barristan nodded, handing it over to her, „Where did you find it? I had the stores and the dungeons searched for every last sign of Targeryen rule.“ She explained and Barristan glanced around the throne room at the banners, wondering slightly why Stannis Baratheon had never burned them like they had done now to everything even remotely belonging to House Baratheon.

_„Do you ever grow tired of dragons?“_   
_„Asks the Dayne while staring at the stars.“_

„In the Guard Tower, Your Grace. It seems Lord Stannis' men hadn't had much interest in looking closer, the rooms of knights, especially those of a Kings- or Queensguard have always been rather bare.“ He told her and smiled when she traced the rubies with a careful finger.  
„How does my brother's crown end up in a Kingsguard chamber?“ She asked, half confused and half amused.

„Rhaegar liked to spent the little free time he had either with his daughter or annoying his best friend. And he preferred to do the latter in Arthur's meager little chamber than his own quarters. And he lost things, forgot where he had left them.“ Daenerys smiled at the notion, it was an odd characteristic for a prince who was so noble and grand, the flaw almost too simple. And certainly something his perfect knight of a best friend with sharp sense for order had never let him live down.

„Thank you for bringing this to me, Ser Barristan.“ Daenerys told him and it was with almost childlike glee that she set the crown to the top of her head, only to have it drop over her eyes to rest upon her nose. She laughed, taking them with her as she pushed it up again and took it off. „Still, thank you. It is...it feels good to have something that belonged to a member of my family...and is not this castle itself.“


	4. Chapter 2 - Old Wounds

A few days after handing Rhaegar's crown to her, Daenerys found Barristan on a walkway overlooking the training yard where some of the Unsullied and the Dothraki tested their strength and abilities against each other without going too far. 

„I am sure they would be delighted if you joined them.“ His Queen announced herself with quiet words as she stopped next to him, „They have heard of your story, they have seen you fight. Grey Worm praises your skills and your advice. You know how our enemy fights, I am sure you could give them advice.“ Barristan smiled, cloak rustling in the wind as one of the dragons flew by.

They had taken to Dragonstone like flies to honey. 

„I will think of it but I believe you might have a point, Your Grace.“

They watched in silence some more, the only sound the distant yipping and shrieks of the dragons playing and the clash of metal from down below. 

„Lord Varys found portraits.“ Daenerys spoke up again after a few minutes, Barristan looked at her, „Thrown away carelessly into a cell in the dungeons, but the time did not damage the pictures by some wonder, only the frames. Would you look at them with me? If it does not cause too much pain?“

„ _I'm not sitting down for a portrait again, Elia._ “  
„ _I promised Ashara._ “  
„ _Ashara should just come back, then she can see me every day and doesn't need a portrait. Do you need portraits of Oberyn?_ “  
„ _I am trying to stop him from sending me more._ “

„It would be my honor, Your Grace.“

Daenerys led him to what she had taken as her solar, Barristan noted that she had taken the rooms for herself that had once been Princess Elia's, the one with the grander balcony. And when he found a green dragonhead looking inside the pushed open doors from above upon their entrance he understood why. 

Dozens of portraits leaned against each other next to the table and Daenerys bid him to sit down with her. 

„I should probably have a better feeling for this but I fear they all look so similar that I most often do not know who it could be.“ Daenerys offered with a quick laugh and Barristan reached for the first frame with her permission, she took one for herself.   
„I will try to be of help but I fear recognizing people from centuries ago might make it difficult, Your Grace. I was never a scholar.“ Barristan already excused himself, looking over the man in the portrait, silver hair, purple eyes, clearly a Targaryen, and it was only the distinctive crown who gave him away. „Ah well, but this one is easy, Aegon the Conquerer, Your Grace.“ He said and turned it around, „And the one you are holding is the late Princess Elia, your brother's wife.“

It was weird, that the memory of her didn't burn as much inside his chest as Rhaegar's and Arthur's and Rhaenys' did. Barristan had no explanation for it, they had been friendly but Elia had had her ladies, most of all Ashara, had had her daughter to talk to. To walk with.

The moment his hands turned a frame around and Rhaegar's face stared back at him, it didn't take his breath away but it froze him nevertheless. He didn't know anymore who the painter might have been, it was too long ago, but he or she had clearly been a master of their art. Rhaegar was looking off into the distance, indigo eyes as solemn and far away as they had often been, but his mouth was curled up into that slight smile.

Either Elia had read to him while he had sat for the portrait, or he had watched Rhaenys play, or that beast of hers had once more decided to torment Arthur. 

„Your Grace?“ He cleared his throat when his voice came out a little too heavy, Daenerys looked up from where she had been staring at a portrait of Visenya and Rhaenys in full armor. „Your brother.“ He carefully handed the portrait over and Daenerys took it, eager to look upon it more closely. Barristan didn't need the picture to look for the resemblances that he already knew, both of them shared the nose of their grandfather, and though the colors were different in their shades of purple, Daenerys' eyes had the same shape as Rhaegar's.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

„I always imagined him to look like Viserys, just older.“ Daenerys mused, on the balcony a dragonhead appeared once more. Rhaegal purred, sensing his mother's emotions for sure. „But now I can be sure that he was the one I saw in my visions in the House of the Undying. I am happy these were found, we shall hang them up again. I want my family to have a place here, even if it is only in portraits.“ He nodded at her, glad to have been of help. He watched her stand up, the portrait of Rhaegar still in her hands as she walked over to the dragon named for the brother she had never known. „Look, Rhaegal.“ Barristan had no idea if the dragon could understand but he still listened with a smile as Daenerys talked about Rhaegar.

Barristan took up one of the smaller portraits and he laughed when he turned it around, recognizing the familiar shade of annoyance in haunting violet eyes that meant that Rhaegar had once more gotten what he wanted despite his best friend being rather unwilling.   
„Another one you recognize, Ser Barristan?“ Daenerys asked him, she had set Rhaegar's portrait to the side and instead had gone over to pet the dragon who looked migthy content at it. 

„In a way, Your Grace, though his eyes may look like it, he is no Targaryen. You share distant blood with him but that is all. Rhaegar called him brother anyway.“ He explained and turned it around for her when she walked over again. „Ser Arthur Dayne, of your father's Kingsguard, Your Grace, though he was Rhaegar's Knight first and foremost. He was your brother's best friend, the finest man I ever met. The most honorable Swordsman of the Seven Kingdoms.“

Daenerys took the portrait and looked over it, observed the painting of the man who had been the only one who had ever truly held Rhaegar's full trust, who in turn had given a young Prince the truest and deepest loyalty Barristan had ever seen. 

„He looks rather...annoyed.“ 

„Ah, yes, Your Grace. A private commission I would believe, Arthur was not the one to want his portrait taken, he was not one for vanity or any kind of fuss about himself. The only person who would have gotten him to agree was your brother.“ Barristan told her with a smile and Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him, „He was honorable right down to every single bone, as deep as every drop of his blood. The Daynes choose their Sword of the Morning carefully, but Arthur was more than just a good choice. He was the embodiment of what a Knight should be, and his skills surmounted all others.“

„You told me he lost tourneys, to you, Ser. And to my brother.“ Daenerys reminded him and sat down, setting Arthur's portrait down next to Rhaegar's.  
„He did, and I still believe it was of his own choice sometimes. Arthur Dayne was not a man for glory, for feasts or dances.“ Barristan noted, smiling in memory of glowering looks and stoic standing at parade rest, and quiet whining when the Queen shushed him dancing anyway, „He saw his place in Rhaegar's shadow, protecting his back, and he was happy there. Your brother often made it a habit to refuse dances until Arthur was dancing himself, and Arthur could not say no to Rhaegar.“

„He loved him.“ Daenerys gasped and looked over to both men, their faces side by side now, Barristan followed her eyes.

„Yes, he did. Maybe even too much.“

\--

When the Dornish and the Tyrells ascended upon them to make plans, Barristan staid out of the way, left the guarding to Grey Worm and his men. He had no wish to cross paths with any of the Viper's children and was even less inclined to deal with Olenna Tyrell.

Or any of the flowers.

What had happened to Prince Oberyn had been terrible, but as someone who has known the man in a time before the unfair murder of his beloved sister, Barristan knew his recklessness and temper might have played a part in his demise. What had happened in Dorne was treason and politically unexperienced or not, even Barristan knew that only a ruling House of Martell had in times kept temperamental proud Dornish Houses from descending on each other like vultures.

Who was left to assure that now? Who was left to keep them in check after Ellaria Sand had gotten her personal little vengeance?

Dorne answered to no one from the outside. Bend the knee to no one who wasn't unbent, unbowed, unbroken. 

These Sandsnakes were clearly Oberyn Martell's daughters, but they wanted blood, not power.

As for the flower children. Even fourty years after he swore an oath by joining the Kingsguard of Daenerys' grandfather, Barristan was a knight from the Reach. The Tyrells had been the Warden of the South and they were to be respected, right until that moment where they wanted too much and got themselves killed.

And once you served under Gerold Hightower you learned to never underestimate Olenna Tyrell.

As his luck – or lack thereof – would have it, the old Rose found him anyway as he was walked along the outer walkway to get back to the castle after he had spoken with the stablemaster.

„Ser Barristan.“

Barristan sent his eyes up into the sky and prayed for dragon intervention but the one closest, Viserion perched on top of one of the dragon statues, simply cocked his head to the side, daring him to not have the courage to face that old woman by himself.

„Is it not luck that I might find you after all.“

„Lady Olenna.“ He greeted her and turned around, once upon a long time ago she had been among the most beautiful women in Westeros, long before there had been an Ashara Dayne or a Margaery Tyrell. Gerold Hightower had often told stories that had made the youngest among them – Arthur back then – cringe and then quickly excuse himself to get away from their drunk Commander before the stories could turn even more embarassing.

Arthur had always avoided gossip, thought it useless, while Rhaegar had always warned him to read between the lines, to find the truth between the layers. 

„Still not much to say, I see.“ The only remaining Tyrell told him, that treacherous smile on her lips as she stopped next to him, looking out over the castle grounds and the ocean behind the cliffs. „It must be strange to be back.“  
„It is. It has been a long time. Is there something I can help you with, my Lady?“ Just because she had allied herself with Daenerys didn't mean at all that he had to trust her even slightly. The old Rose had always had her own schemes, always her own games to play, Rhaegar had hated her.

But the two greatest influences on the Silver Prince had been Dornish, one of them a Dayne of Starfall, and neither had ever held any love for the Reach and especially not Highgarden. 

„Did you ever wonder how small a change could have made a difference?“ Olenna began and Barristan eyed her from the corner of his eyes, waiting for her to finally speak her mind. „Say...If Ser Arthur had been with you at the Trident.“

Wonder?

It was a question that had plagued Barristan since the minute he had seen Rhaegar fall and the Usurper dealing the last blow. What ifs had plagued him for years. Had Arthur persisted on following Rhaegar into battle, their prince might have lived. Dawn would have cut the Usurper's hammer in two and his head clear off as well, and the realm would have gotten the king it had needed and deserved.

Not a fat man who loved wine and women more than the crown.

Or lions who had no right to it at all.

„ _Where is Arthur?_ “  
„ _We don't need Arthur to win this._ “  
„ _Rhaegar, with all respect and honor, Arthur needs to be at your side in this._ “  
„ _When this battle is over, my friend, I'll explain to you why I need Arthur somewhere else._ “

„Ser Arthur served Prince Rhaegar's command.“ Barristan didn't let himself be swept up into Olenna's need to play games, „He had his reasons and Arthur served him more than he did the King.“ Olenna hummed and chanced a glance up to the dragon still watching them, Viserion hissed and Barristan couldn't help but smirk a little when Olenna twitched and averted her eyes again. „I have made peace with the past, Lady Olenna, I cannot change what happened and reminiscing about it will not bring them back either. The man who killed Rhaegar is dead. The man who killed Arthur is dead. The man who ordered the Princess and the children to be killed is dead.“

„So, you never asked yourself what secrets that tower might have held? What secrets the great noble Sword of the Morning chose to die for?“ Olenna pushed and prodded and Barristan fought the urge to hiss at her like the dragon had.  
„If you remember like I do, my Lady, Ned Stark and the Daynes burned that tower down to the last brick. Whatever secret it held, it was forever destroyed.“ Barristan replied her a little harsh and let his eyes and stance do the rest, he was in no mood to talk about the past.

Of course he had asked himself why Andric Dayne had ordered his men to help the then young Lord Stark burn that cursed Tower of Joy to a crisp until everything that was left was a charred spot on the ground. But could one truly blame him for his harsh reaction? He had lost two of his siblings and had not been granted the chance to bury either of them in the proper ways of his family, he had gotten injured on the Trident and seen so many countrymen die, and his fury had unloaded on a tower of all things. And then, nothing, Starfall's doors had closed, Ned Stark had ridden North and the Daynes had kept themselves absolutely quiet ever since.

Who could blame them?

The past was the past. They would never know the truth.

„If you'll excuse me now, my Lady, I have tasks to attend to.“

Mainly getting away from her.

Nodding his head to her, Barristan stalked off, cloak flying, making his way down the stairs again instead of venturing into the castle. Some seawind would soothe the fury curling inside his gut. She had no right to steer up old stuff again, they were here for Daenerys, to give her the throne and the crown she deserved as the last Targaryen.

It was what Rhaegar would have wanted.

He heard how Viserion hissed again and then took flight, Olenna Tyrell gave a surprised choked up cry and Barristan smiled as the dragon raced by him.

„Good boy.“

\--

Jon sighed as he watched the waves lapping at the ship as it effortlessly passed through the Narrow Sea, going South.

The only Stark who had in recent times gone South and lived to tell the tale back in the North was Sansa, and his sister's ordeal was terrifying. Nothing she should have ever experienced, and he admired her for getting out on top of the whole situation, to not have it crushed her beneath all the horror.

His father, Lady Cately, Robb...Arya...all of them had gone South and died.

And as he stood there on deck of 'Lady Ice', not feeling the wind in his face or the cold on his skin, Jon had to think back on the generation before even. His grandfather went South and burned for it. His uncle went South and was strangled for it. His aunt had went South and bled and died for it.

And all three of them had died after getting themselves somehow involved with Targaryens.

A Targaryen, like the one Jon was sailing towards now. Only this one was said to have three actual breathing dragons with her. 

Made burning people alive only easier.

Dragging his hands down his face, Jon sighed again and again, watching the coastline in the distance, sending a prayer to gods far away to let this not have been the worst decision of his life.

'I'm not Uncle Brandon. I'm not Lord Rickard.' He thought as he made his way down below deck again, intending to find Davos, going over plans would distract him, 'I'm not Lyanna. The dragons won't get me.'


	5. Chapter 3 - The King in the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first meeting ends with frustrations for everyone except Barristan Selmy who is too busy remembering what breathing was again. And in faraway Dorne, a House of Stars stirs with plans of their own, time of playing second fiddle on their own home is over.

„Who is this boy?“ Barristan wanted to know when Tyrion told him that Daenerys had sent for the King in the North to come before her in Dragonstone. Tyrion drowned an amused smile into his cup of wine. 

As usual Barristan was amazed how much the dwarf could pack away.

„You remember that Eddard Stark had a bastard?“ Tyrion answered him with a question of his own, and Barristan nodded. Of course, he knew, who didn't know about Ned Stark's bastard, the honorable man's fall from grace, showing that even his morals had flaws.  
„Of course I do. We all had our theories about the mother.“ Barristan told him in reply, he had always rolled his eyes over the assumptions of Robert and the other Kingsguard members.

The only times he had intervened had only been when Ashara Dayne's name had been dragged into the dirt, and the others had quickly learned not to mention her around him anymore. Ashara had made mistakes, but she had paid for them horribly and he would not let her picture be soiled with the gossip of drunken men. „So, Ned Stark's bastard is King in the North. The last thing Lord Stark told me about the boy is that he had joined the Night's Watch. How does a Watch brother become King?“

„That's what I intend to find out.“ Tyrion quipped and emptied his cup, setting it down on the table in the kitchen they had found themselves in late at night.  
„You met the boy?“ Barristan asked, curiosity positively awakened, and a little bit of prepidation as well, the last time a bastard had been crowned a King of his own name, the realm had suffered through Blackfyre rebellions until their line had been extinguished.

“Many years ago when King Robert visited Winterfell. We talked, from dwarf to bastard, equals the positions. I rode North to see the Wall when he left for Castle Black with his uncle. He's a fine lad. A little... Quiet. Solemn. Brooding. But he's got a good heart.“

_“The prince...he's a little...“_  
_“A little what, Arthur?“_  
_“Quiet. Solemn. Brooding. But he's got a good heart.“_

How odd.

\--

It was a slap into the face.

It was like a hammer to the gut.

Like a sword into the chest.

The second the doors of the throne room opened and Jon Snow, the King in the North, stepped through them, Barristan couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

It was sheer instinct that keep him on his feet on the third step below the throne where Daenerys was sitting, hand curling around the handle of the sword at side to keep himself grounded. 

Jon Snow looked every bit a Stark, like Tyrion had told him, more Stark than any of the other children of Eddard Stark that Barristan could remember. 'Looks like his father', Tyrion had mentioned with a shrug of his shoulders and now Barristan thought no, no, Tyrion was wrong.

The boy looked like his _mother_.

Dozens of gossiped theories about the mother of Ned Stark's bastard that he had heard over the years splintered and broke in his mind like glass.

Those eyes, he had not gotten them from his father. 

Barristan had only met Lyanna Stark once. One time in Harrenhall, at that blasted tourney before everything had fallen apart but those grey eyes he would recognize. Those were not just his mother's eyes though, from the lines of his face, to the shape of his nose, to the color of his hair, he was Lyanna Stark's son.

And then this smuggler Lord introduced the King in the North and Jon Snow looked down for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the decorum, clearly uncomfortably with hearing his name attached to a title and there was absolutely no air left in Barristan's lungs. The walls seemed to close in and either his leg was shaking or the ground was falling out beneath him.

He knew that look. 

_He knew that look._

He had seen that look hundreds of times. That desire to be everywhere else but in that place in this moment, but being there because duty dictated it, because it was for the good of the people. Those eyes that spoke of brooding silence when the King of the North looked up again, of a weight too heavy for a kind heart. Melancholy was written into everyone line of the face of a young man who was used to loss, used to doing things he did not like.

Oh Rhaegar, what have you done?

What have you done...

\--

Everything that happened then, from the talking to the arguing, it all didn't really get through to Barristan.

His mind was whirring, turning in circles and hoops and jumping around facts and questions.

It couldn't be, it just couldn't be. Rhaegar wouldn't have been that stupid, that reckless and that mad. 

But wasn't the contrary staring right at him now? Lyanna's eyes but Rhaegar's melancholy?

And didn't it all make so much painful sense?

Explain so much?

Why Ned Stark isolated himself to the North so much? Why he never wanted to talk about his bastard and his sister? Why the Tower of Joy was burned to its foundation? Why the Daynes completely shut themselves off from anyone outside of Dorne's own inner connections?

Had the Daynes known the truth?

\--

Jon had two kinds of thoughts as he stepped into the throne room and laid eyes on Queen Daenerys Targaryen and then listened to her speak.

The man in him saw her as one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

The king in him noted that she had no idea what these Seven Kingdoms had been through.

Ten thousand titles, all earned in a far away land that no one had any interest in in Westeros, a country ripped apart by a hand full of years with too many kings, too many rebellions, too much betrayal. They didn't need a Breaker of Chains, there were no chains in Westeros, there were mad lions sitting on the power and a real danger up North that absolutely no one fucking believed in.

Jon was so done with all Royals. True or Wrong, fake or right, he didn't fucking care anymore, there was a real threat, kneeling wouldn't solve it. Old oaths didn't solve wars.

The Dragon Queen could say she had come to rule, to free them from lions, Jon felt he knew better.

She had come to conquer.

Faith in herself, what good would faith in herself be when the dead was standing in front of her? How far would faith bring her when the Night King could end up stealing a dragon? Foreign armies come to take back a throne that hadn't belonged to her House in twenty years.

Danaerys Targaryen stood before him, all but in words declaring herself Aegon the Conquerer come again.

And maybe it was pride, maybe it was foolish, maybe it was smart, but Jon would not be Torrhen Stark.

He would not be another King Who Knelt for Dragons.

\--

Dany had no time to deal with that stubborn fool who called himself King in the North, even if he had her blood curdling with anger and fury. She had more pressing matters to attend to, she had no time for stupid Northerners, not when she had just lost great allies and half her fleet.

So she pushed Jon Snow to the back of her mind, focused herself on the task at hand, argued with Tyrion about everything else but the King in the North and his tales of foes in fairytales.

He was not going to leave this island before he was kneeling.

\--

Tyrion didn't know what to do think.

This man standing before him in the throne room...he was Jon Snow and he wasn't. This wasn't the quiet brave boy anymore who had ridden North to the wall, green around his ears and a bastard who hated himself more than he hated the people calling him such. 

This man was a King now. 

And for all that Tyrion desperately didn't want to believe him, grumpkins and snarks indeed, he knew that Jon Snow wasn't lying. Would probably just drop dead if he did ever lie. He was bleeding the same honor that had kept Ned Stark standing until the bitter end.

Jon Snow wasn't lying, wasn't making anything up, and the thought terrified Tyrion so much that he didn't know how to approach the situation with his Queen.

But of course then Varys brought the news of the Greyjoy attack along and that thought was lost in chaos anyway.

\--

The moment they were shown to chambers and not cells, Jon slammed the door shut and dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands so hard that he was close to draw blood. There was a ball of fury in his gut, almost like a rope drenched in wildfire that had been set aflame once he had set foot onto the island, edging closer and closer to a great explosion.

It felt like something was crawling under his skin.

“Who does she think she is?” He snarled quietly to Davos who had sat down and poured himself a cup of wine, Jon chose pacing, he wanted to keep a clear head in this damn castle. “Why do these Southerners always choose politics over life? Who fucking cares about a damn throne when no one is gonna live to see anymore when we don't fight the real war?”

Davos knew him well enough by now to know when to keep silent until Jon had let it all out.

“Asking me to kneel. Kneeling in exchange for help.” Jon spit it out and turned for another round, the chamber was grand, offered much room to get rid of his anger, “She calls herself all those fancy titles and still left those people behind to fend for themselves now. To what? Conquer another country, conquer another people just for a bloody throne. The Iron Throne will still be there when the Long Night is fought, stood there for three hundred fucking years and will remain there for probably another three hundred more. The Night King is marching now and not next year, we do not have time for fucking politics.”

And then it was all bled out, like a wound that finally closed Jon felt drained and empty, sinking down on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands. 

“I don't have time for negotiations.” He breathed out heavily, “I need the dragonglass and preferably her help and those dragons now. Why can't she understand that it is her life as well that is in danger? Her life, those of her friends, her advisors, her armies. The Night King will not care about Dothraki, Unsullied or Westerosi.”

“She did not grow up in these lands, and even if she had, the South will all think it to be fairytales told to children to have them behave.” Davos was trying to be soothing, Jon could hear it but he was too worked up for it to have any effect. He felt like he could run for leagues and leagues and still have bees in his veins. “She doesn't believe it to be real. Once upon a time you thought it to be stupid stories, too.”

“I thought dragons to be extinct as well, and here we are. She is said to have brought them back with her own flesh and blood and still she looks me in the eyes and accuses me of lying!” Jon pointed out and took one hand to point towards a window, out in the open bay the dragons were circling around each other. His body was tired, so tired, everything he had hoped her to be, crumpling like ice crystals upon a hand.

His mind was raging, his body wanted to go home.

“Your Grace...”

“I will not kneel.” Jon interrupted Davos harshly, feeling terrible immediately but this freaking island was putting him on edge, he needed to breathe, “The last Stark who knelt for a Targaryen was my grandfather.” Davos flinched even before Jon spoke it out, “And he got burned alive, by her father. I'm not kneeling, not for her. Not for anyone.”

Then he asked for Davos to leave him alone and slumped down on the bed, glowering at the ceiling, willing his mind to come up with a solution. There were people who relied on him, people he had promised and sworn to protect, he had promised them to get help. Dragonglass. Dragons. An army to join the fight.

A long time ago the Targaryens had had dragons, too, and they had conquered almost all of Westeros. Torrhen Stark had knelt to spare his people the fire and destruction, he went from King to Lord, as had so many others. Only Dorne had not folded, had rebelled, had resisted, they had not bowed, they had not bent, they had not broken.

Well, then, he thought in his frustration, turning onto his side and glaring at the dragonhead carved into the stone walls.

Let the North be Daenerys' Dorne.

Let her keep her army and her bloody dragons. He would calm his head down and then ask to mine the dragonglass himself, she had no need for it. 

And then he would go home and fight the only war that mattered, and if some of them slipped South and killed her precious army, well, not his fault, she could have listened.

\--

The second Jon Snow and his companion were dismissed for the day, Barristan fled to his room up in the tower, slammed the door, fell against it and screamed into his hands.

„The Seven be damned, boys.“ He breathed out and when he looked up it was like he could see them watching him from where he had caught them so often. Like ghosts sitting how they had always sat, Arthur with Dawn, Rhaegar with his harp, „What did you do? By the gods, what did you do?“

_„Do you think Arthur regretted it in the end, Ser Barristan? To have guarded a girl when he could have saved the Prince?“_  
_„No one knew Prince Rhaegar better than Arthur Dayne, Ser Jamie. He chose to stay behind in Dorne because it's what Rhaegar wanted. We both know Arthur was no coward, he would have fought at the Trident if Rhaegar had wanted him there.“_  
_„Instead he was guarding a dying girl.“_  
_„For a reason we will never know and should not dwell upon.“_

„Arthur wasn't guarding Lyanna Stark. He wasn't fighting for Lyanna Stark, he was protecting a child. He was protecting Rhaegar's son.“

And then the words were out.

No more buzzing around his head, no more crawling around at the back of his throat.

Rhaegar's son.

Not Ned Stark's bastard.

His newphew. His sister's son.

_Rhaegar's son._

„What did you do, Rhaegar?“

And the ghost like image of his old friend looked up with indigo eyes set in that sadness Rhaegar had carried beneath all that rage in the last battle they had ridden into. He didn't say anything, of course not, not when it was all so clear already in Barristan's mind.

Rhaegar hadn't been obsessed with Lyanna after Harrenhall.

He had fallen in love.

Rhaegar hadn't kidnapped Lyanna from her own home.

They had run away together.

Rhaegar's _son_.

\--

Jon couldn't sleep that night, his mind too loud, too many questions swirling around.

What to do now?

Which angle could he use to even get her to listen to him?

How could he make her believe those tales to be truth?

He pushed himself out of bed and when not even sitting at the window made anything better, he got out of his given room to walk the castle. No one stopped him, even if a guard in black followed him silently.

Jon walked and went to thinking.

\--

Barristan couldn't sleep that night, his mind too loud, too many questions swirling around.

Who had known?

Who was left of those?

And who would even answer a raven sent by the disgraced Kingsguard Commander while a Lannister continued to sit the throne?

He pushed himself out of the bed and tried to sit at the window for a bit, but the stars in the sky only made everything worse, so he left his room and went down to walk the unease off.

Outside the night was dark, the sky clear and the wind was gone for once.

He remembered a night like this, even if warmer, Princess Elia had visited her family because of some problems that had arisen in Dorne. Rhaenys had been fussy and restless without her mother there to tuck her in, routine broken for the first time. Rhaegar had walked with her over the island for hours, sung to her, Arthur and Barristan shadowing them. 

At some point Rhaegar had been the one who had grown tired, drained by the day's work, by restless sleep for himself, while Rhaenys remained wide awake. Arthur had taken her then, pushed Rhaegar to sit down on a rock and sat down on the ground, Rhaenys wrapped in his cloak and he had told her about the stars. In the end, they had spent the whole night outside and it had been one of the most peaceful nights Barristan had experienced since his childhood.

In the here and now, he walked until he reached the cliffs and could sit down in the light sea breeze. He looked up over the black ocean, stars twinkling innocently and he sighed, „What was the plan here? What am I missing here? Was one girl worth losing everything? By the Seven, Rhaegar, we lost ten thousands of men. We didn't protect the capital from your father or the Lannisters, thousands more died. Your wife, your children! What was the plan if you didn't come back? Did Arthur and you even ever talk about it? What were three men supposed to do when the whole kingdom came riding for their heads?“

Wings flapped and clawed feet set down on the big rock to his left, Barristan didn't need long to make out golden eyes staring back at him, head cocked to the side. Rhaegal had turned into being by far the most friendliest out of the three dragons to everyone who was close to Daenerys in some way. Drogon only listened to her, only took commands from her, he was the biggest and clearly the leader. 

Viserion was the wildcard, by far the most temperamental, the one who could oh so quickly get into a mood where he didn't even listen to his mother. It almost hurt sometimes how fitting she had named them, as if the gods had had their hand in it. Rhaegal could often be seen now approaching one of them, always keeping his distance still but watching and observing. Barristan knew it freaked Tyrion out, because among the three dragons, Rhaegal could be the quietest, sneaking up with soundless steps.

Drogon was too heavy to do the same, and Viserion was too impatient.

Barristan didn't mind the curiosity, he wasn't scared of them, he had respect for them and he hoped it showed, hoped it was enough to never be attacked.  
„Your namesake has made me want to strangle him.“ He told the dragon who blinked back at him and then laid down, „The brother your mother named you for was a good man, but he also made terrible mistakes. And if I am right, then he condemned an innocent boy to a terrible fate. Created by love and thrown into the world where people will hate him for what his father has done.“

Rhaegal huffed and Barristan nodded.

„I cannot imagine what the boy will think, raised in the North with these vile stories about Rhaegar. And your mother...this is gonna shake the whole realm upside down. And I need proof before I can talk to anyone about this. Good proof.“

\--

On his way back to his room, he ran into Jon Snow in the Gallery of Kings that had only gotten finished a day before the Northern King's arrival.

And as fate and his luck would have it, Barristan found him standing in front of Rhaegar's portrait.

Of course.

The Seven had it out for him. 

Closing his eyes briefly, Barristan took a deep breath and then walked over to the boy. With the first shock worked over by now in his mind, he could really look at him for the first time again. The boy was lean, not something he had ever associated with the Stark men, no broad shoulders, no imposing height, he favoured his mother even there. But it was the way he held himself that reminded Barristan again of the man grey eyes were studying, like two different sides of him.

The official one, the uncomfortable but still trained to be straight and open pose, and then in private, shoulders more hunched, more relaxed, drawn inside, lost in thoughts. Rhaegar had been just like that before his father's debilitating status had forced him to become a second King instead of being granted to remain a prince until he felt truly comfortable in who he was.

„He was not who the stories make him out to be.“ Barristan spoke up and felt terrible when Jon Snow flinched and whirled around, „I apologize, I did not mean to startle you.“ He left the titles away on a gut instinct, all of them, and he could see how it was almost a relief in the other one's eyes. „I merely saw you and wondered. Prince Rhaegar does not hold a good reputation in the North.“ Jon Snow's eyes darkened a little, turning back to face the man depicted on the portrait.

„You knew him well, did you not, Ser Barristan?“ Jon Snow asked him and Barristan was not surprised over being recognized.  
„I would say so. He was a friend to me, next to being a prince I was sworn to protect.“ He treated carefully, knew not yet how to step into these waters with this young man. Robert had exploded every single time someone even mentioned the Silver Prince, threatened people with execution when they dared to take Rhaegar's name into their mouth. Eddard Stark had always turned the conversation around with a skill that would surprise you when the topic had turned to his sister and the Prince who had ruined his family.

Now, Barristan understood him so much better.

It hadn't been shame or anger. It had been fear.

„Did you ever believe that he kidnapped her, Ser?“ Jon Snow took him by surprise with his next question, his own doubt swimming in those words. Barristan felt his heart beat with hope.  
„No. Despite what the people saw in him, Rhaegar was not someone who would kidnap a girl from her home and lock her away in a tower on the other side of the realm. He was not cruel, he knew what a no meant and he respected it.“

_„Unless it comes from Arthur here, then a no only ever means a maybe.“_  
_„It does not, Rhaegar!“_  
_„If you say so, my friend.“_

„I do not believe in it either.“ Jon Snow spoke up quietly and Barristan could feel his heart jump, „Sometimes I even thought I could understand her. My father did not speak of Lyanna, and we learned to never ask. My uncle Benjen sometimes did though. And what he described...Lyanna was not happy, the life she was supposed to lead...I think it scared her...and I think I understand. I too wanted to be something I could not be when I was younger, and the future that lay ahead of me scared me too, if for other reasons.“

He stopped for a moment, a long moment where it was the light or Barristan's own imagination but grey eyes flickered violet for just a moment as Jon Snow stared back at the man who unbeknownst to him had been the one to leave him with this uncertain future. 

„I would not have wished for a Silver Prince to come and sweep me away on his horse.“ Jon Snow smiled, crooked and still true and warm, like a man had many years ago. „But if anyone had offered me to take me away, to give me a chance to run away from that life, I would have accepted, too...Do not get me wrong though, Ser Barristan, he still brought a harsh fate upon my family, and it is not something I can even forgive a dead man.“

„I understand, believe me, I do.“

He couldn't forgive it either.

\--

Further South still, in a castle next to a roaring river mouth leading into the tranquil Summer Sea, Arthur Dayne stared at his older brother's solemn face for a good long moment until he raised an eyebrow. “You have just received the news that half of the Dornish fleet was destroyed by the Greyjoys, that Ellaria Sand and the Sandsnakes have been captured and by now certainly killed, and you want to call in a Great Council?”

Andric Dayne looked over to the quiet third party in the room and found indigo eyes already trained on his face where Rhaegar Targaryen was sitting on a chair by the wide open windows. The Lord of Starfall sighed then, folding his hands on top of his desk.

“The time to grieve those lost in Ellaria's mad attempt to get her revenge can come later. Dorne is without a leader, Arthur, and in these times I cannot just sit here and wait until a solution comes around. For all that the world is convinced, House Martell is dead and Dornish Houses will descend upon Sunspear like vultures. You want to wait to get these idiots back in order until the Dragon Queen sends one of her dragons around because we were bothering her too much?” Andric argued heatedly, pushing himself to his feet and walking around the table to get to his brother, “What do you want me to do when a dragon turns up to get us under control again? Send Rhaegar out and hope for the best?”

Arthur sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, it was sign enough for Andric to continue, Rhaegar was still quietly watching them.

“I will not let the Yronwoods take control, nor will it ever go to the Gargalens, the Blackmonts or any of those other fools. House Dayne stood along these shores and among these lands long before any Prince of House Martell came along. I am sick of being looked down upon like some child playing games at the table of adults. The last child of Oberyn Martell was born to my House and Sunspear is hers! And a Great Council to determine Dorne's future is exactly what will happen.”

“I don't presume you want our help with a Great Dornish Council?” Rhaegar finally chose to speak up himself while Arthur sighed, feeling only one step away from stomping the ground. Why always with the damn politics? Why could things never just be easy? Andric snorted, and Rhaegar chuckled, “Yeah, I thought as much. So what are we supposed to do?”

“You are going to sail for Dragonstone, last news I have is that she summoned the King in the North.” Andric said and Arthur tensed, could see how Rhaegar jumped to his feet.  
“He is on Dragonstone?” Rhaegar choked out, eyes going wide, Arthur stepped over to him and reached up to squeeze his shoulder, so close, they were so closeto him now. “We'll pack right away.” Rhaegar decided and after one last smile from Andric, he rushed from the room.

Arthur made to follow him, but was held back by his brother, “You keep those golden rings on your arm hidden, make sure Rhaegar does as well. We can't lay all our cards on the table right away.” Andric whispered to him, Arthur nodded, he understood, “I know that Rhaegar doesn't want to hear it, but we don't know if she is father or mother.”

“I get, alright?” Arthur assured him, “I'll keep them hidden until the time is right. And you better prepare yourself, when Ashara hears that you want to put Dorne's crown on Eliana's head she's gonna claw your eyes out.” He laughed and then walked out of his brother's solar, behind him Andric snorted.

“Should have thought about that before laying with a viper!”

\--

Deep in the night on Dragonstone, the castle finally slept, lights diminished even in the rooms of those with thoughts and decisions plaguing their minds in dreams.

Even out on the cliffs, the winged inhabitants of larger size have found rest for the night. All but one. 

For a green scaled dragon was still taking slow circles around the castle, trying to figure out what it was that was suddenly calling out to him.


	6. Chapter 4 - Too Many Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People talk, they always talk so much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, next chapter, slowly deviating from canon season 7, some conversations from Jon's early time at Dragonstone are very much implied here, some other conversations from those moments are slightly changed.
> 
> Furthermore let us welcome a dragon as a POV character, had the idea, thought why not, could be interesting, and they are said to be very intelligent.

“You make me feel like I am failing at brooding.”

Jon snorted when he heard Tyrion approach and speak up, still he didn't look away from the open sea, his only sense of freedom that he had for the time being. Dragonstone was a relatively big island but it was still a bloody island and Jon felt like not even running in wide circles around its shores would calm down the restless beast in his chest.

He had never felt this caged in.

As if there was something inside of him that wanted to break out. 

“There I thought I could come here to sulk about my failings and our losses, but you make me look like a fool.”

“I'm sorry for your losses.” Jon grunted, meaning it but not feeling it, “I do not mean Queen Daenerys bad luck in her war for the Iron Throne, still not gonna bend the knee.” He said without looking at the Lannister still, if he focused hard enough on the horizon and the sound of the sea, he could pretend for just a moment that he was on a ship headed North again.

Of course Tyrion didn't take his bad mood as the sign that he was, instead of leaving him alone he began to talk.

He talked about whatever came to his apparently troubled mind, no information coming from the Reach, the only information coming from Dorne meaning more trouble for them to concern themselves with. He talked about the cut off Unsullied army and the lost fleet ships.

Jon wanted his godsdamn quiet back.

He didn't care about Queen Daenerys' conquering problems. Dorne could take care of itself by themselves the best, everyone knew that. From all that he had heard from Sansa about Olenna Tyrell, the old rose could take care of the Reach by herself quite well, too. The Unsullied didn't sound like a group of men in need to having a saving knight ride to their rescue and no one should have ever trusted an Ironborn.

This didn't need a miracle problem solver, it just needed some clear thinking that wasn't colored by a conquer's dreams.

Jon had problems to deal with that couldn't take care of themselves. Or be solved with just some minutes of rational thinking.

“You can bleed into my ears with your troubles for days to come, it's not gonna change my decision.” He nearly growled after a few more minutes, roughly cutting Tyrion off and seemingly surprising the other man with his sharp tone. “I'm not here to ally myself with Queen Daenerys for some game of thrones. I'm also not here to swear fealty and help her win what she thinks to be hers. I am here because we will soon all be dead if we don't do something against the one threat that really counts.”

“She cannot abandon her people...” Tyrion began to argue, calm and measured and something in Jon snapped, whirling around he glared down at the Queen's Hand, hands curled into fists.  
“And I can't either!” He snapped, furious right down to the last bone again, he felt like Ghost just one tiny moment before he pounced on the enemy, everything inside of him was tensed for attack. “I can't and I will not dishonor the promises I made to my people, to the North.”

Tyrion stared at him for a long moment, something in his eyes told Jon that he had successfully surprised the man something good, maybe even shocked him with this outburst. But then again, Jon was beginning to get shocked by his angry moments as well, Dragonstone was not becoming him.

Not in a good way.

“What you speak of...”

“Is real! It is real and it is coming. Winter came, did it not? No one believed us, said the Starks and their sour mood, always thinking about winter, even in the midst of summer, always dreary that Northern lot. Well, I'm sure even Dragonstone got a white raven. Winter is here, it came. And it will the hardest Westeros has seen in a thousand years. And it will be the last season we have ever seen if we don't work together.”

“Jon, if you would only...”

„Tyrion, with all respect, I might be a Stark bastard, but there is still the Stark part in that equation and my family's history with dragons is not exactly colored in white.“ Jon tried to keep his voice level but the frustration he felt still very much showed, he hoped Tyrion could tell. „Quite on the contrary, it's dripping red. Twenty years ago the actions of the Queen's brother led my family to almost being eradicated. It was her father who burned my grandfather and laughed while my uncle was choked to death trying to get to him. Or did you think my father spared us those stories?“

„Daenerys is not her father. She isn't another Mad King.“

„No, she isn't, but Prince Rhaegar wasn't either, or at least the stories say so and my aunt died anyway. So forgive me for remaining hesitant. I will not bend the knee. And if she threatens me with her dragons now, she will just prove what you spent time denying. I have men and women, lords and ladies, smallfolk and free folk who are trusting me, who gave me their loyalty because they believe I will make the right decisions to protect them. I respect that she wants to take back what she believes to be hers, and she may do so south of the Neck without any intervention on my part. Or the whole North's really. All the North cares about, all that my people care about is fighting the one war that really counts. Against the Army of the Dead.“ 

He was losing control over this thing inside of him again and snapped his mouth shut before he could get too far. Breathing in once and then twice he schooled his face into the blank mask again and drew his cloak tighter around himself. Tyrion was watching him with almost curious eyes now.

“I came here for a reason and that reason was to find help for my people, help to assure the survival of what Queen Daenerys claims to be part of her people as well. She doesn't believe, decided to turn her back on the safety of the realm she wants to _conquer_.” Tyrion flinched but Jon kept his calm for once instead of lunging for the open wound again, “I am fighting for the North, in the North, against an enemy who doesn't sit on fancy thrones. If she wants to be the Queen of Ashes,” he sneered when he finally moved to walk away, using Davos' words, “The Queen of Ashes and Ruins and a Dead People, then she should have gone to Valyria, as far as I heard, there isn't a lot that there that would stand against her.”

And then he excused himself and walked back towards the castle, leaving Tyrion behind to stare out over the sea.

\--

Tyrion had underestimated it all.

The North remembered, and how it did. The Stark's had honor and stubborness. The Targaryens had pride and stubborness. This could only end in disaster.

“Why did you come here?” He asked half an hour later, barely giving Jon Snow a chance to look down after he had opened the door of the chamber given to him. “You answered a summon, fully well knowing that you would never bend the knee, so why did you come? What does Dragonstone have that you need? What does Queen Daenerys have that you might need for that war you speak of?”

Confronted with a concrete question and no political puzzle building, Jon Snow straightened his shoulders and the scowl on his face morphed back into the ever lasting brooding expression of a boy grown old beyond his years. That fire he had shown earlier was entirely locked away again.

“Dragonglass?” Daenerys asked him in not even ten minutes that followed his brief conversation with Jon Snow and Davos Seaworth. “He wants to mine dragonglass?”  
“You're apparently sitting on a mountain of it. Dragonglass, Obsidian, it's black stone. Shaped into weapons it apparently helps defeating the dead.” Tyrion explained and poured them another cup of wine, Daenerys took hers without stopping to frown down at the fire. 

“So you're believing him now, too?” She asked after a long moment's pause, accepting the cup gratefully with a small nod, Tyrion sat down in the other chair that had been pulled in front of the fire in the Queen's solar and thought about his answer.  
“I do not know if I believe him. I know him not to be a liar, I knew his father not to be a liar. The Starks are stubborn, aye, peculiar maybe, Northerners are as such to us Southerners, but they value honor very high.” He took a sip of wine, contemplating on how to go on.

“Be honest with me.” Daenerys prompted him when the silence dragged on too long for herself, Tyrion sighed and leaned back, setting the cup to the side. “Will I get the North without a fight?”  
“Not by playing Aegon the Conqueror, Your Grace.” Tyrion began, turning his head to the side to find her looking at him, face carefully blank if tired looking, they had all lost sleep over their losses, too much was at stake right now. “Torrhen Stark, that is not something the North remembers when they think of Targaryens.”

“They'll think of what my father did to their Lord and his heir.” Daenerys concluded but Tyrion shook his head, mind stuck on another face, one he had seen only once, from afar as a child when his father had thrown the tourney for the birth of Prince Viserys.  
“No, they'll be thinking of your brother.” He corrected and Daenerys blinked at him, face shifting into confusion while she swallowed her wine.

“What did Viserys ever do to the North?”

“No, Your Grace, the other one. You see, the Starks, the whole North really, they value their children greatly. It is a dreary place the North, the cold is hard, the weather is even harsher, it is easy to lose a young one. And when what I know is true then girls born into the Stark line are not so common, so they treasure their daughters even more, keep them close to home by usually marrying them to bannermen, because only a Northman can be worthy of a Stark daughter.”

“You married a Stark daughter.” Daenerys pointed out and Tyrion flinched at the reminder, he still hadn't gotten more than superficial words out of Jon Snow about his sister, though he really wanted to know more on how Sansa was doing.  
“I was forced to marry a Stark daughter so that she may survive, but let us not look at why the Starks hate Lannisters, that's a whole other box of issues. Prince Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark, and it doesn't matter if he forced her or if she ran with him,” Tyrion stopped whatever Daenerys had wanted to say, he knew Barristan had talked with her at length over it in the last days already, he knew the difficulty even better, “The truth is one thing, what the North sees is another. For them the Silver Prince took their precious wild daughter South, locked her in a tower and left her to die. He caused Brandon Stark to ride to King's Landing to demand the Prince's head, he caused Lord Stark to follow him and be trialed for attempted treason. It's not the father you'll be compared to with those people, Your Grace, it's your oldest brother.”

An unfair treat. 

Because who in their right mind would want to stand up and let themselves be compared with the Silver Prince.

Daenerys made no sound while she turned the cup of wine around in her hands and looked down into the fire and Tyrion was weirdly reminded of a similar downcast moment he had shared with his brother a many years ago.

_“You should stop brooding so much, you know.” Tyrion noted with a bright grin as he climbed up on the simple bed in the sparsely fitted room that his brother could claim for himself in the White Sword Tower. “Makes your face look ugly.” Jaime didn't even move away from where he was staring out of the only window, he had cleaned up since he had been released from the Black Cells a two days prior._

_“We're to have a wedding once this mess is cleaned up. Our sister is to be Queen, I am sure you have heard that from father by now.” Tyrion went on, hoping that something he said would break his brother out of this spell, according to his father Jaime hadn't spoken a word since they had questioned him down in the dungeons. “King Robert has allowed you free leave of the Red Keep, we could go down, drink something. Lord Stark has left a...”_

_“Don't say his name.” Jaime hissed suddenly and turned away from the window to glare at Tyrion, the deep rings under his eyes made him look more dangerous and Tyrion twitched. His brother looked at least a decade older than his seventeen years, no white armor or white cloak in sight still, that fate was still being discussed, Tyrion knew what his father wanted. “Do not ever say his name in my presence again. And don't look at me like I'm gonna break any second!”_

_“I...”_

_But the wall was crumbling and now Jaime found his voice._

_“Do you think I wanted any of this? Do you think I sat awake at night for moons planning on how to best murder my king?” It broke out of his brother heatedly, trembling hands coming up to push through his already chaotic hair._

_“Of course not, I...”_

_“I didn't want Robert to survive. There, said and spoken and take me back to the dungeons. You think I killed Aerys because I wanted Robert to sit on that damn throne? I killed him because I had to, because otherwise this city would not be anymore. I didn't want any of this to happen, not Elia, not the babe, not Rhaenys...” Jamie's voice broke and he took a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to get it together, “I wouldn't have fought for the Usurper's army. I would have stood with my brothers and fought so Rhaegar would win. I still want Rhaegar to win, he was my Prince, he was the King we deserved and Robert Baratheon killed him. Our own father had two innocent children murdered, Tyrion! Babes! Rhaenys wasn't even three, she was such a sweet girl! And now I have to stand here and look at this place, look at these people and I don't care what they call me, I don't care what they see in me.”_

_Jaime blew out a loud breath and collapsed basically on the single chair standing right under the open window._

_“I sat down there in the damn cell and I thought to myself, any second now, Jaime, any second now you're gonna wake up and it will have just been a dream. They'll all still live, not Aerys, but Rhaegar, Elia, Aegon, Rhaenys, Arthur...I wanted to be him.” Jaime looked over to him again and Tyrion's ten year old self hadn't been able to do anything else but stare right back at him, “I wanted to be great like Arthur Dayne, as honorable and good as him, to be deserving of the man he saw in me when he knighted me, and now? The Smiling Knight had more honor than me, Tyrion. Let the people compare me to the villains in history, it doesn't matter to me. I should have died with my brothers, but I didn't. Nothing matters anymore.”_

And he had gone right back to staring out of the window.

How much had changed still then. How much Jaime had changed after he had given up. 

“So what do I do?” Daenerys drew him out of his thoughts about Jaime again, “What do I do with the King in the North, what do I do with the North?”  
“Nothing for now.” Tyrion proposed, knowing how foolish it could potentially be, but there was something nagging him at the back of his mind that was telling him it would be the right decision in the end, “Let him mine the dragonglass, let him return home. If you imprison him here on this island until he bends the knee, you'll just turn him into another Lyanna Stark.”

Despite the seriousness, Tyrion had to a smile, what a hilarious comparison. 

“And lose the North along with it?”

“No, we're just pushing the matter away, which does not show weakness.” Tyrion pointed out when violet eyes swung to his face again, “Let them fight against their dead monsters. By our luck they will kill each other and we can take the North even easier at a later time.” Tyrion didn't hope that happened, he merely hoped some time of contemplating back in his cold hell would give Jon Snow time to come to his senses. “We have enough problems as it is, lost enough allies as it is. Half our fleet is gone, the Unsullied are still on siege in Casterly Rock. It's only a time now until my sister makes a move on the Reach and Dorne...well frankly, I don't understand a thing about Dornish politics, and neither did Ellaria Sand which is why it's down to the mess it is right now. The North is not going anywhere, Your Grace, and by letting Jon Snow go home, you're not making an enemy out of them either.”

“Alright.” Daenerys agreed and went back to her feet, smoothing down her dress, Tyrion eyed her as she strode over to balcony. “Let him mine the dragonglass, but do not tell him about the second part yet. He can know that he may leave when he is done with his work.” Tyrion had the peculiar wonderous thought that his Queen maybe didn't want Jon Snow to leave for another reason than him not bending the knee to her, but Daenerys turned the conversation in another direction, “What can we do about Dorne then?”

“Find someone who understands Dorne?” Tyrion proposed and emptied his wine, “I sure don't.”

\--

After her brief conversation with Jon Snow, allowing him to mine the dragonglass and then immediately sending him off to get to work instead of giving him an answer to his question – an answer she didn't know she had for herself yet – Daenerys remained behind on the stairs for a while longer, staring out across the bay. Watching Rhaegal and Viserion turn in circles around each other, her children were playing. 

She couldn't stop thinking of his face, the look in his eyes really, as she had spoken these words, 'we all enjoy what we're good at', and the painful way he had told her that short 'I don't'. Somehow it stirred up a memory of how she had talked with Ser Barristan up in the great pyramid in Mereen, where he had told her about the brother she had never known. 

_“Rhaegar never liked killing.”_

Why did this King in the North stir up comparions to her long dead brother in her?

“Ser Barristan?” Daenerys called out on a gut decision, the first she let herself have since this Stark bastard had arrived on her island. Her Queensguard Commander stepped closer, “I will task you to keep an eye on our guests. I want to know what they are doing.” Daenerys told him and didn't even really hear his answer while she thought back to this Jon Snow again.

There was something about him.

Something that irked her in all the wrong ways, something that made her blood boil but she couldn't name it. And she didn't want to name it. Until he was bending the knee, he was an enemy.

\--

The pain was flaring up again and not even rubbing against the spot on his chest was doing anything in bringing even the slightest relief. Indigo eyes slipped close, teeth grinding together so he could breathe through it until the spell passed again.

Behind him the ship was busy still with sailors working to lower the great sails now where it looked like the storm would be upon them soon. The sun had long turned to settle for the day, turning from its blinding white yellow to an orange gold, pale blue sky vanishing under the black clouds of the approaching sea storm.

The wind had already picked up enough that he was shivering beneath the thin black tunic he wore, hours ago it had been enough in the heat of the afternoon sun. It didn't help at all with the pain of wounds long gone, made it only worse, breaths coming heavier, shoulders growing tense and heart pounding faster.

Leaning forward until the edge of the railing was sharply digging into his thighs, Rhaegar Targaryen tried to ignore the sounds of screaming voices in his ears, Robert's being the loudest, tried to ignore the phantom sensation of that hammer slamming into his chest, and then falling and water, water everywhere, in his mouth and his lungs and he couldn't...

“Breathe.”

His voice broke through the chaos and the memories in his head as always, a warm hand sliding up his back until it settled heavily against the back of his neck, fingers gentle digging into his skin. “Come on, just breathe.” Arthur repeated the command and Rhaegar let himself be pulled upright again, “You're worrying yourself sick again.”

“I'm okay.”

“You're not.” Arthur protested vehemently and gave Rhaegar no choice in the matter when he grabbed his left wrist and pulled him away from the front of the ship, passed by sailors who all made room to let them reach the stairs that went below deck. Arthur closed the door of the cabin that they had reluctantly taken when offered, it was way too big, and then proceeded to push Rhaegar down on the bed in the corner.

Furs were placed around his shoulders and Rhaegar's eyes fell shut when some semblance of warmth crawled back into his skin. When he opened them again, Arthur was kneeling on the ground before him, hands rubbing his right knee, the one that had been shattered by Robert's hammer to bring Rhaegar to his knees before him.

“I sent Edric to get some poppy of the milk.” Arthur spoke up again after a moment and Rhaegar sighed, “You need to sleep, Regg. Without those dreams and without worrying yourself sick about the boy. We're days out from Dragonstone yet, you're gonna fall over before we reach it.” Calloused but still soft hands came up to frame his face, a gentle hold if also one Rhaegar knew he couldn't get out of, “I know you are worried on what will happen. What Jon will say, what Daenerys will say, but it's not in our hands. Get some rest.”

“You're turning into a nursemaid again.” Rhaegar allowed himself the bickering, wonderfully distracting as it was to his headache. Arthur snorted and then none too carefully shoved him down onto the bed, they both knew by now that this pain of old wounds was only in his head, not real, as much as it felt like it.   
“The nursemaid you had as a boy would have long slapped you over the head, my friend.” Arthur countered, helping him take off the boots before leaning over him to grin, fingers tugging on the strings of Rhaegar's doublet to loosen it. “We promised each other to look out for one another, so I'm doing just that.” Rhaegar let him smile and leaned into the hand that Arthur traced down the side of his face, the groan that was met with didn't come from the Dayne leaning over him though.

They both turned to look at the young man wearing the scowl on his face who closed the cabin's door behind himself and then held out the vial with the milky substance that Rhaegar grimaced at when Arthur reached for it. The blond young man with the dark blue eyes handed the milk of the poppy over and then stalked to the bed across from them.

“The Captain says we're running into a storm.” Ned told them while Arthur busied himself getting a cup of water ready. Rhaegar closed his eyes and pulled the furs over himself, letting the warmth seep into his body.  
“It's not unusual so close to Dragonstone.” He answered the boy who had become nephew in all but blood in the last years. “I would be more concerned about peaceful sunshine.”

“I wouldn't complain about sunshine, and now drink.”

Letting his eyes portray how little he enjoys it, Rhaegar nevertheless swallowed the sweet tasting concoction and then leaned back into the pillow, the numbing sensation came quickly then, showing just how much he had pushed himself to the edge again. He felt Arthur sitting down on the bed but was too tired to open his eyes again and see how, could feel his lover's hand steadily rubbing a thumb over his aching knee.

“Stop sulking.” Arthur began quietly and Rhaegar knew he meant his nephew, Ned's following sigh was only confirmation, he let their conversation wash over himself. “You only have yourself to blame for this.”  
“I am hardly to blame for what Beric chose to let his path become. I was twelve and his squire, and we were in the freaking Riverlands.” Ned cut back and the familiar argument was almost soothing to Rhaegar's ears, “What was I supposed to do? Return to Dorne on my own? Get snatched up on the way by some outlaws?”

“I'm not having that conversation with you again. You're here because your father does not yet trust you to remain in Starfall unsupervised while he makes for Sunspear. And you're here to help Queen Daenerys with Dorne.” Arthur's voice was quiet but sharp, and still the hand on Rhaegar's knee remained gentle. “And why did you turn sour anyway? When your father told you about Jon Snow you begged me to take you with us, Edric.”

Arthur was the only person in the Dayne family who didn't call his nephew by his nickname, Rhaegar had an inkling as to why but they had never talked about it.

“I wanna see you stuck on a ship with your uncle and his paramour for a week who are still acting like they're twenty, and not lose your spirits.” Ned complained, spoken like someone who had never been in love, though even as numbed and drowsy as Rhaegar was he could still feel sympathy. And amusement over the fact that the young Lordling of Starfall was calling him, the self exiled prince, the paramour in this relationship.

“One day, my little green nephew, you will understand.” Arthur mocked, fondly though and Ned's annoyed groan was the last thing Rhaegar heard before sleep claimed him. He found himself dreaming, despite the deep sleep the milk of the poppy forced him into. He was standing again in one of his favourite spots on Dragonstone, staring out across the sea.

He was waiting for something, but didn't know what, something was coming, soon even, he just had to wait a little longer.

\--

“You don't have to help, Ser...”

“Oh, so it's Ser again?” Barristan noted with a laugh, handing another arms full of cut obsidian to one of the Dothraki who had been sent to help today down at the caves. It had been a couple of days of mining the dragonglass now, King in the North and Dragon Queen were evading each other, both of them busy with their own stuff.

Barristan had found himself picking up conversation with Jon Snow again and again while he was tasked to watch the Northmen. They had talked so much indeed that this Northern King who might as well be the one with a bigger claim to the Iron Throne than the Queen he was sworn to protect had asked to be called Jon.

Something that had stirred up a lot of emotions in Barristan for a moment, he was an old man, but even his heart could be touched by simple gestures.

_“Rhaegar.”_   
_“Your Grace?”_   
_“My name is Rhaegar.”_   
_“I'm not sure I can follow...”_   
_“This is so painfully entertaining, I could cry.”_   
_“Shut up, Arthur...Ser Barristan, I've known you longer than anyone else on this island, please do try to stop the Your Grace. It's just us here.”_   
_“If you wish so, Your...Rhaegar.”_

“Of course not.” Jon rolled his eyes and handed over another load of cut glass that Barristan effortly passed over into the next hands. “I'm still trying to get used to it.”  
“You're the one who ask to drop the titles for good.” Barristan reminded him and rejoiced almost in the laugh that Jon gave. The second he had been able to do something and stop the waiting, Jon Snow had stopped the brooding and the heated glares and become just one of his men.

“I'm also the one who thinks that a legendary knight who personally ended the last Blackfyre Rebellion, who saved Aerys II in the Defiance of Duskendale, should stand here and carry dragonglass.” Jon argued politely and despite the dim light in the cave Barristan could see the boy grinning. And though Barristan knew what he meant with it, he couldn't help but joke back.  
“Is that your noble way of saying I'm too old?” He wanted to know and send Jon laughing, a rumbling sound that echoed from the cave walls, some of the Northmen glanced over, seemingly relieved to see their king away from that dark stormcloud he had been hiding himself under.

“I would never imply that, Barristan. I appreciate the help very much but I wouldn't want to keep you from your duties.”

'My duty is here, keeping an eye on you' Barristan thought to himself, 'My duty is here, trying to figure out if I am right or my imagination is just running wild.'

\--

Far far in the North, Benjen Stark stood on the edge of the treeline and stared up at the vaste whiteness of the Wall. If he narrowed his eyes, he could even see the outposts of Castle Black on top of it.

The last time Benjen had talked to Bloodraven, the man had told him that Jon had died right there in the courtyard of the castle, as Lord Commander, betrayed and murdered by his own brothers. And then revived by a Red Priestress, and that thought still had him shudder, not because he didn't believe. What the Children had done for him to save him from the fate of becoming just another dead soldier in an army for the Night King had stolen all potential disbelief in magic from Benjen.

And that was the problem.

Blood of Kings, Bloodraven had told him when Benjen had asked him about this Lord of Light, and Benjen had known from the first moment he had then stared at those red eyes that Bloodraven hadn't meant the old Kings of Winter. That the Three-Eyed Raven, that the Children had known hadn't surprised Benjen in the slightest, what didn't they know, nor had it worried him.

What danger was there for someone to know beyond the Wall.

Certainly none for Jon.

It was the other news that had him standing here now, guarding Castle Black from the other side, a shield for the shield that guarded the realm. 

'He's not the only one a Red Priest brought back' Bloodraven had said in another night, a mere week before Benjen had left as Bran had approached, gone to slay the dead. 'The father lives as well.' For a long long moment Benjen had stared at this old man, grown into the tree, two Children hovering at his side, his chest burning with the thought of his brother being back before the real meaning had sunk in.

He hadn't meant Ned. Brynden Rivers, this old old Targaryen bastard hadn't meant Ned.

He had meant Rhaegar.

A cold snout brushed against his hand as Benjen stared ahead at the gate that seemed small and defenseless in this cold hell, a necessary hole in the wall. An entrance. He reached out a hand without looking and stroked it over the direwolf's back. He hadn't in the slightest been able to swallow that information yet, longed and longed to go beyond and help, to demand answers, to offer explanation.

So much death had come to his family in the last twenty years. When would it stop? When would it ever stop?

It would have been so easy to tell Bran, to tell him everything, to make sure Jon heard these news from someone who was kin, someone who wouldn't intent to hurt him with it. Bloodraven was no more, Bran's abilities weren't as strong yet and he was gone through the Wall, Benjen had no way of getting news now.

No way of knowing how many of his nephews and nieces were truly left still. No way of knowing if the one lone wolf would ever find his way to Westeros. No way of knowing if Jon yet knew the truth. No way of knowing if somewhere out there Rhaegar could get to him and just explain as the only one who had any rights to it.

The wolf at his side whined and Benjen blew out a breath, turning to head back into the forest, a small cave was his safe haven for now. He would not wander anymore, he would stay, guard Castle Black as good as he could in this approaching storm.

Settling down in the small alcove in the rock, he stirred the fire back to bigger flames and grunted when his companion heavily flopped down against his side. “Have a care.” He told the black wolf and still didn't need any begging looks to resort to some belly rubs, even magnificent deadly beasts were just animals. He relaxed, as much as he could let himself, and let the flames warm his face and hands.

“What is the truth here, Lya? That Ned and I, that we wanted to protect him, our nephew, a boy of our blood? Or that we were scared he'll want to claim both sides of his blood and make for a crown?” Benjen sighed again and settled back against the rock, eyes looking down at the flames of the fire.”I certainly know that if anyone had asked me to pick between Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen, I know whom I would have chosen. And Ned wouldn't have liked it. Brandon wouldn't have liked it, Father wouldn't have understood, but it wasn't like any of them ever asked me.”

At his side, the wolf gave a grumble.

“I do not know if Bran ever reached Winterfell. I do not know what Jon's fate will be once he finds out the truth, and he will, I can feel it in my blood. I do not know what will happen to Sansa. I cannot even say if Torrhen and Arya still live. I can't help them, not where they are. I can only remain here and fight for as long as I can, and take as many down with me as I can.”

Bloodraven had talked about prophecies that would soon be fulfilled. Benjen didn't care if they fought the Night King with ice or fire. If they wouldn't do it soon, it wouldn't matter anymore what they did, they would be too late.

\--

Back on Dragonstone, a green scaled dragon grumbled deeply and then hissed out a puff of hot air from where he was dropped flat against the soft grassy top of a cliff, the black castle in good view. Something was in the air, the dragon could feel it, could sense it in his very blood, had started to feel it the moment this strange man had arrived.

Rhaegal made a high pitched whining sound and then flinched at the following warning growl that came from a cliff closer to the castle grounds. Drogon was not amused over their behavior, neither Rhaegal's constant complaining that he wasn't noticed or acknowledged by this strange man who had only fear for them. Nor Viserion's sudden desire to stare longingly over the sea for hours on end, only interrupted by aborted tries to fly away out onto the bay, not being able to say why he felt the urge.

Rhaegal couldn't tell what made the strange man so interesting either.

Not wanting to provoke his bigger brother on this night, Rhaegal gave up on finding sleep for now and brought himself back up into the air, might that a bit of flying would tire his restless mind out. 

It was with his third circling of the castle that he caught the smell of blood and knew.

Not strange. Kin.

\--

In his chamber, Jon hissed and drew his hand away from the sword, groaning upon the blood welling up in the cut he had dealt himself while polishing Longclaw that had been given back to him. 

He stuck the side of his palm between his lips and sucked while tucking the sword away with the other, he needed to get to bed before he ended up cutting off a limb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now let us say goodbye to canon for good and get right down to business, things are gonna happen in the next chapter.
> 
> The Title hopefully says it all already: Chapter 5 - Rhaegal's Surprise


	7. Chapter 5 - Rhaegal's Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you weren't thinking I would draw out the big moment of reveal for long still. Nah, let's shoot lots of canon proceedings into the wind now.  
> I loved the scene with Drogon and Jon, but a part of me wanted it to be another dragon so badly, and it was then that the beginnings of an idea for this story were born.  
> Have fun!
> 
> And once more, if you don't agree with the plot or ships on a story, go ahead and write your own but leave me with your opinions alone. There are tags for a reason, go and search without them if something doesn't agree with you, filtering stuff out is a thing.

Edric Dayne bit back the curse and braced his shoulders to take the one hit against his sword before he shifted his weight onto one foot and twirled to bring the broad side of his strength against his uncle's sparring blade. 

Fully aware that every eye on deck was watching them.

Their future Lord and the Sword of the Morning, of course it would stop it all, especially because Edric had pushed this back long enough for Arthur to start needling him into a spar.

He smirked when he caught sight of his uncle's face next, violet eyes set onto where Edric's attack had just barely been parried before his sword could have hit Arthur's chest. Not a deadly hit by length, but an injury nevertheless and every hit brought a foe out of concentration, left room to attack lethal next.

Slowly though, his uncle began to smile and then laughed, dropping his blade down again, Edric copied his move. “Seven Hells, Edric, and they made you a warrior after all.” Arthur praised him and Edric knew his ears turned red when he lowered his gaze to the hilt of the blade he now carried. It was nowhere near as beautiful and unique as Dawn, but he would never even think about dreaming about his family's legendary sword as long as his uncle was still very much alive.

Dawn was Arthur's, his honor, his duty.

Starfall was Edric's.

“I see that Torrhen has in no time compensated what Berid let slack in your training.” Arthur hummed and motioned for Edric to take position again. And of course Arthur looked smug, when Edric had finally made it back to Starfall, his family had thought him dead because no good news came about Beric Dondarrion anymore. His father had called Arthur and Rhaegar back from Lys to have the warrior among them go and make sure Beric was dead for good for killing Starfall's only heir.

Unfortunately Rhaegar had been in no condition to travel, and it was Torrhen who had turned up in Starfall with a few men to heed his uncle's call. Edric was still very happy that he had managed to ride through Starfall's gate not a day later before Torrhen could have laid waste to what remained of the brotherhood.

A few moons later, Edric had been sent off to Aunt Allyria to finally learn what he should have learned under Beric, and in Braavos Torrhen had been so terribly appaled at Edric's skill in swordmanship that he had snatched him away for half a year. The following moons of daily drills, the dozen of spars against the other men and the one battle he had ended up joining – much to Uncle Arthur's and Lord Father's chagrin – it had truly let him become a league's better fighter than he had ever thought himself capable of.

“Don't let him hear that.” Edric said nevertheless and quickly moved to parry his uncle's attack, “His confidence is already worse than Prince Oberyn's ever was, and it didn't bring him any good.” He reasoned and grinned at the amused snort that Arthur and Rhaegar gave almost in sync. It was his not-really uncle then who spoke up next, still sitting at the side with a whetstone and his own sword in hand.

“Your cousin's confidence has been resting higher than any mountains could reach since the first moment I met him when he was a child. None of his adventures or victories are the reasons for it.” Rhaegar recalled with a lazy smile, Edric could see that he was doing better again, this spell of something having passed over him.

Good so, they would reach Dragonstone in three days' time and despite his uncles' sheer belief in it, Edric wasn't entirely so sure that Daenerys Targaryen would react so happily to seeing her older brother back from the dead. Until Rhaegar actually said those words and knelt for her, he was the one person with a bigger claim to the Iron Throne than her.

Until of course they told her about who Jon Snow really was.

Oh, this was gonna be a fun trip.

“Torrhen has been thinking he's the greatest since the cradle.” Arthur joined in as well, quick-stepping to bring Edric out of his rhythm, “Comes with the blood apparently. Andric did say Ashara was the same, and everyone who has ever met Brandon Stark will think that about him as well, no matter how brief the meeting was. A good amount of confidence never hurt anyone.” Arthur smiled as Edric jumped out of reach of his sword, “The annoying quality in Torrhen is that he is very much aware of how good he is, and that he deserves what they say about him.”

“Are you fearing for Dawn, Uncle?” Edric chuckled as they finally broke apart for good, soaked with sweat from the afternoon sun, both heading for the waterskins immediately.  
“Torrhen has his own plaything now.” Arthur answered, always a tiny bit with a notion of 'don't you take my toy away from me' in his voice, Rhaegar smirked up at him, “Don't look so cocky, you're the reason they gave it to him.”

“I just played into what they were thinking already.” Rhaegar defended himself and then was left swatting Arthur away with a noise of complaint when Arthur pressed a sweaty palm in his face. Edric rolled his eyes and closed them when he drank his water.

Maybe Jon Snow knew something about the girl Edric hadn't been able to stop thinking about.

“Stop it, Arthur, you're disgusting!”

Well, if he didn't know, Edric would just grab the first horse available and find her himself, sounded better than being stuck on a ship with those two again. 

\--

Rhaegal turned out to not only be the quiet dragon, but also the one with a secret plan.

Between the loss of their fleet and the capture of their allied leaders and the repeated news of uprisings in Dorne without a trueborn child of the Martell family left to rule, Barristan found himself too busy to dwell long on this personal reveal about Jon Snow that he still needed to go after.

Daenerys and Jon Snow argued, didn't see eye to eye and Barristan feared the worst already for when the truth might come out. He had no idea how to approach the situation with either of them, or anyone really.

Who was left to turn to?

The Stark brothers were all gone, Barristan didn't know the men who had ridden with Eddard Stark to the Tower of Joy. And Lord Andric Dayne hadn't been heard from outside of Dorne's borders since the end of Robert's Rebellion.

But at least Andric was still alive. Barristan didn't know the youngest Dayne sibling Allyria, nor had he ever had any idea on who the woman was that Andric Dayne had married and who had given him a son. And he knew no one else who might have once been close to the Dayne family, Barristan had grown up a boy in the Reach's side of the Dornish Marches, even the stoniest of Dornish had been the enemy.

And now?

The Daynes had been Targaryen loyalists, even before a Dornish Princess had married the Silver Prince, ever since they had married a daughter of their own to a Targaryen Prince. Dyanna Dayne had never seen a crown but she had born strong children, and her blood still flowed in Daenerys as well.

Would it be so surprising then to welcome a raven from Dragonstone? Worth the risk?

Daenerys allowed Jon Snow and his men to cut down the dragonglass, Barristan saw it as progress, even if she very much showed her dislike of the King in the North. He masked his feelings better now behind the everlasting brooding but Barristan could see the Wolf's patience thinning as well. But with the permission to mine the dragonglass, the King in the North disappeared into the caves and Daenerys focused her sole attention on her other problems.

Of which there were plenty.

Politics, always the bloody politics.

_“Politics, always with the politics.“_  
_“We can't just decide everything by trial of combat, Arthur.“_  
_“Would solve a lot of hours spent on useless talking, my Prince.“_  
_“You wanna challenge jolly Olenna Tyrell to a round in the sparring yard? I would actually pay to see that.“_  
_“Ser Gerold might not be amazed by it.“_  
_“Don't bring that up again, Barristan, I beg of you.“_

People could lose themselves in politics, in talking and prejudices, in opinions and expectations, so easily. One wrong word, one false look and suddenly alliances fell apart or were never built.

Well, thank the world for dragons.

Rhaegal showed absolutely no interest in the tension that had lain over Dragonstone, be it the overall one because of the lost allies or the more personal one between a Queen and a King. Rhaegal was a curious child who wanted to make a new friend.

And sent the whole castle into the truth.

Well, first into blatant confusion and chaos, but then the truth. 

Rhaegal simply did Barristan's job for him while the old man was still looking for an idea.

\--

It started innocent enough. Jon Snow was free to walk the island, he wasn't a prisoner, and he walked a lot, way more comfortable outside it seemed than in the dark castle. Often Lord Davos could be seen with him, or Tyrion walked and talked with him, Barristan himself had found himself talking with the boy from time to time about this and that.

Most of all though Jon Snow paced along the cliffs or down on the beach alone.

Like a wolf. 

A wolf forced into a territory that wasn't his, unable to leave and unwilling to bow to the new power. Back and forth. Back and forth. Eyes a million miles away, his mind surely not any closer.

Barristan didn't know what to think about the news of White Walkers and the army of the Dead, he was born and raised in the Reach, even winter had never seen snow for him. The Dead, that had been stories for children, nursemaids intending to scare them into obeying. But Barristan was also aware that Rhaegar had had a hungry interest in exactly those kind of books, sometimes the word prophecy had also fallen from his lips, but Arthur and even Princess Elia had always been quick to keep it from reaching the ears of anyone but them.

Barristan knew why, of course he did, with a mad King on the throne, it wouldn't do good to have a Crown Prince talk of prophecies. 

But Jon Snow didn't look like a man who made stories like that up, and if he carried even only half the honor his fa...uncle... had had in himself, then Jon Snow wouldn't lie. 

He told as much to Tyrion as they walked along the great stairs down towards the beach on the late afternoon that would change everything.  
“Aye.“ Tyrion agreed, he looked tired, long discussions with Daenerys no doubt, Barristan escaped those, had been tasked with keeping an eye on their guests. „I would not say he was not capable of lying, but he simply isn't lying. A thought that scares me more to be honest. I wished I would see a way to convince our Queen of such.“

“Perhaps one needs to remind her _again_ on why these Starks do not trust anyone.“ Barristan proposed and felt terrible for it, the North hated Rhaegar, more even than they had ever hated Aerys. It was the King who burned the Lord of Winterfell and his heir, but it was Rhaegar because of whom they had come down South in the first place. And everything that had come after it, the Starks had lost much, too much, way too much in the last twenty years.

And by the gods, Barristan needed someone to talk to about this mess in his head.

Someone else but ghosts.

“You told me yourself that Jon Snow doesn't believe in the whole kidnapping theory. Or has a care for this stupid game.“ Tyrion argued and sighed when a shadow flew over them, close enough that Barristan could almost feel wings against his hair. Rhaegal had gotten more and more daring in the last days, especially with their Northern guests.

Barristan had seen the dragon sitting for an hour outside the cave entrance just this morning, staring at the cave's entrance with curious eyes. He wondered if Daenerys was either not noticing it in her problems or if she wasn't reading anything into the fact that one of her dragons was following the King in the North like a truly oversized duckling while the other two couldn't have cared less.

“He doesn't.“ He picked their conversation up again, eyes following Rhaegal as he sailed through the air, „But just because he doesn't believe in one story, doesn't mean that he does not condemn Rhaegar for what he had done. _I_ don't believe in the kidnapping story and even I cannot show full understanding for Rhaegar's actions. I know that our Queen knows the story, knows the history of Robert's Rebellion, but maybe a reminder could put things into perspective again. Rhaegar started the downfall of what is undeniably the only House that can unite the North. As long as the Starks stand tall, no one in the North is gonna even think about bending the knee to Daenerys.“

“The Starks lost much.“ Tyrion said with a pensive tone in his voice and Barristan nodded, eyes narrowing when Rhaegal's circles over the beach got closer again, the dragon losing height. 

He wouldn't touch down when there were obviously people milling about and loading crates with dragonglass, now would he?

“And the North remembers, especially when...“

But every word got frozen in his throat when his eyes caught sight of a scuffle on the beach, a Dothraki and a Northman caught in an argument that got a little handsy. At least until Jon Snow himself dropped the load of dragonglass he had carried from the cave and hurried over to stop an argument from turning into a fight.

Unfortunately his enthusiam earned him an unexpected hard shove from the Dothraki warrior that send him flying into the sand, hard onto his back.

Everything still not the end of the world.

Until a dragon screamed and touched down seemingly right on top of him, continuing to shriek at everyone even daring to make a move towards him.

“Get the Queen!“ Barristan yelled when he finally could move again, heart pumping frantically as he ran down the remaining stairs while Tyrion turned and run back to the castle. Panic was seizing Barristian's veins as he rushed down to the beach, praying with all his might that Rhaegal's curiosity and the obvious knowledge that there was _something_ in Jon Snow that the dragon wanted to figure out hadn't just ended with a dead King.

By the gods, he would never forgive himself.

Rhaegar's son killed by the dragon named after him.

By the gods.

By the time he reached the beach, no one was moving anymore, frozen right where they stood, even the two who had started their fight were staring with fearful eyes at the green dragon. Rhaegal was growling, wings spread in a clearly threatening gesture, teeth flashed.

No, not threatening.

Protective.

The Seven be damned, Rhaegal, this really was not the right moment.

When Barristan drew up to a shock pale Davos Seaworth, Rhaegal swung his head around to look at him, as if challenging him to explain why it was wrong to protect a dragon child.

Well, maybe because no one yet really knew if the boy was a dragon child in the first place.

“Jon?“ He yelled in direction of the dragon and fully ignored how Rhaegal growled again, “Jon, if you can hear me, I would advise against moving until Queen Daenerys has arrived.“ Barristan took control of the situation as good as possible, waved for the men to back off, most of them went only too happily back into the cave where they were supposedly save as long as Rhaegal kept himself to growling and screaming. 

Davos remained at Barristan's sight and he was glad to see people running down the stairs in the distance, among them the pale hair of their Queen. 

A loud thud had him raise his eyes up to the cliff above the cave, Drogon leaned down and Barristan could swear the biggest of the three dragons looked confused over his brother's behavior, Viserion was nowhere to be seen. Drogon roared and even Barristan chose to stay still then, a wise choice when Rhaegal snarled at his brother and instead of backing off and following his alpha's command, Rhaegal stood his place.

Drogon reared back as if hit.

Barristan was not thrilled.

What a nice way of the truth to be unraveled. 

If Jon even still bloody lived.

By the gods, you might have just watched Rhaegar's son die, his mind supplied him with, conjuring up old memories that he really didn't need just then. Rubies floating away in bloodied water. Destroyed armor on a too still body. A face where eyes didn't open anymore.

Drogon screaming even louder ripped him rather violently out of unpleasant memories from a battle that had nearly cost his own life as well. Rhaegal's answer was an even more menacing growl and snapped teeth in the direction of his brother.

“Rhaegal!“ Daenerys announced herself with a loud yell and more words followed in Valyrian that Barristan didn't understand but Rhaegal didn't so much as look at his mother. 

This was really not how Barristan would have wished this dreaded conversation would start.

\--

Jon wasn't scared of tight dark spaces, years of following Arya down into even the smallest crannies of Winterfell had gotten that out of him. He simply preferred open spaces, preferred to feel the wind in his face, but this darkness, this tight space...

Jon was terrified.

Jon was as terrified as he had never been in his life. This was no battle to face, this was no enemy he could attack with a sword, this was no foe to get toe to toe with, no army at his way ready to support.

He was alone.

Alone under a dragon with no way out.

He couldn't hear anything but the ringing in his ears that was threatening to turn him deaf and from time to time rumbling growls from above that shook the body over him. It was warm, unbearably warm so, even for Jon who hadn't felt anything but cold since he had come back, but this heat penetrated him right to the core.

He was sweating from head to toes, didn't even remember what that felt like, knew only how it felt like to wake up in a sweat, horrible nightmares still chasing after him. He hadn't moved since the green dragon – and Jon was sure it was him – had set down on top of him, still lying frozen on his back, hands curled into the sand as if he could somehow disappear right into it and come out somewhere else.

Wherever, just not trapped under a dangerous beast.

How had the Queen called this one again? Rhaegal?

Hilarious.

Namesake trapped Lyanna Stark in a tower. Dragon simply just trapped her nephew under him.

Jon had seen how the green dragon had often flown over the cave, how it had hovered on some outcrop of the castle, head bent down while he had sparred with Ser Barristan to get some of this burning agitation out of himself. He had heard the men whisper among themselves that the dragon had sat in front of the cave's entrance and been watching them.

Jon had pushed that away as exaggeration. 

Until now.

He had been fascinated with the dragon, from afar, and who wouldn't be. They were magnificent beasts, thought to have been gone forever from the world but now brought back by this Dragon Queen. 

The black one, Jon had not learned his name, could cast the entire castle in shadow when he flew overhead. His brothers were smaller but no less fearsome. The more he had missed Ghost, the more he had found himself watching the dragons.

From afar.

Afar!

But no more afar for him now, he was honored with the painfully too close for comfort treatment.

In order to not choke on his panic, Jon tried to focus on something else but the sweat running down his neck and the ringing in his ears and mind, the green and bronze scales above him had a pattern to them that drew him in after a little bit of observing. At least until Rhaegal growled again and shifted so very slightly above him that Jon felt the very blood in his veins freeze.

As much as he tried to just keep still and hope for someone to convince Rhaegal to take off again, his body reacted with instincts he couldn't contain.

Presented with a good chance of being crushed, his hands snapped up almost on their own and pressed themselves against the dragon's stomach. Whatever it was that happened then, it robbed the breath from his lungs.

Anger. Confusion and anger poured through him like he hadn't ever felt it. Anger because something that was his...no, not his, the dragon's...something that Rhaegal's had been meant to get hurt and he needed to protect what was his. He _wanted_ to protect what was his. And no one was going to take it away from him.

'Protect' A voice somewhere inside of Jon seemed to say, repeating it over and over again, 'Protect this one. This one is yours. Not theirs.'

Jon didn't understand, couldn't follow as this sense to protect swept over him, wrapped him up in a hold that he had never felt like this. 

Did Rhaegal mean him?

Why would the dragon want to protect him?

'Mine.' He felt it in his mind, his heart, his bones and Jon gasped, 'You are mine.'

But why? What was happening?

\--

Dany didn't understand.

She didn't understand what was happening. 

It was true that Rhaegal and Viserion had never heeded her command as Drogon had, she knew that even Drogon only did it because he wanted to, because he chose to obey her when he did. But even in the times where he hadn't done what she had asked of him, she had still been able to feel his reluctance, to feel his doubt and his refusal to heed her wishes.

She had always held the strongest connection to Drogon, confining Rhaegal and Viserion into the darkness below the pyramid had destroyed a great amount of trust between her and her two smaller children. 

Rhaegal and Viserion had followed Drogon because he was the bigger brother, and it hadn't been until they had been well on their way to Westeros that Dany had felt a bond with them again, until they had no longer shied away from her when Drogon wasn't around as well.

Now she stood here facing Rhaegal and she didn't feel anything. Just nothing. 

Her child, her beautiful child was clearly agitated and upset, and she couldn't feel any of it, she couldn't sense what Rhaegal was so upset about. Drogon's confusion was enough to almost bring her to her knees, he didn't understand either what his brother was doing, was worried. Viserion was downright scared over his brothers fighting, kept back because he didn't know what to do, didn't know who was right.

What had gotten into Rhaegal?

“No one here is gonna hurt him, Rhaegal.” She tried it again but all she got in turn was a growl, and a look from golden eyes that could have just as well deemed her a total stranger. 

Had she just lost her child?

The sweetest of her children, the one who was almost half cat at times, who had always wanted to be cuddled the much when they had still been so small. The one who had wailed so loud in the first nights after she had to have locked him and his brother away that she had still heard it up in her chambers. 

But to what could she have lost him? 

What had ensnared her child so?

\--

Rhaegal wasn't listening to Daenerys anymore and the not understanding on her face was not the most soothing thing to see. An unruly child not listening to its mother could be amusing, Barristan had seen his share of temper tantrums of little ones, he had even seen his fair share of princes throwing dramatics when another lemon cake was denied or when a book was taken away in the night.

Funny maybe when it was a dragon prince.

Absolutely not funny or amusing at all when said unruly child was an actual fire breathing dragon.

He had had his hand on his sword from the first moment Rhaegal had looked at Daenerys and hissed when she had taken another step forward. That threat, as thin as it might have been, had of course been answered with a growl from Drogon and if nothing would soon change, they'd have two dragons locked in an alpha fight right on top of their Queen and the King in the North.

Daenerys didn't stop talking in Valyrian, to both dragons, constantly keeping up a soothing tone with Rhaegal, only to interrupt it with warnings towards Drogon. 

No one else on the beach moved.

“What is she saying?“ Barristan could hear Tyrion ask behind him, he sounded tense, if the King in the North died they'd have a political disaster on their hands. Barristan didn't want to think about it, because this was Rhaegar's son and Rhaegar's son would not be killed by a dragon, but this boy was also King in the North. And if one more Stark died because of a Targaryen, real dragon or just metaphorical one, the North would rally up against them.

Without a chance of ever making it good anymore.

And winter was here. Winter was upon them, Barristan's old bones could feel it, and this was going to be a harsh one. No one fought better in winter than the North.

“She is pleading with him to understand that she does not want to hurt King Jon.“ Missandei answered Tyrion's question, “And that it is brave to protect someone but that there is no danger anymore and they just want to make sure the man is alright.“  
“I think the no danger argument is useless as long as Drogon is hovering above all of us.“ Tyrion spoke out what Barristan's own mind had provided him with and their Queen briefly glanced in their direction over her shoulder.

“I don't understand this. He has never done this before.“ She said then in the Common Tongue, pain evident in her voice now and Barristan had enough. 

_“I don't understand this, Ser Barristan. He has never done this before.“_  
_“Rhaegar has never had anyone to protect before, my Queen.“_

If the dragon had understood him once already, he could damn well do it again. He let go of his sword and made a step forward, Rhaegal's eyes zeroed in on him, but as much as his instincts were yelling at him to back the damn up, he did not.

He was not afraid, he had respect.

And if this dragon thought he needed to act like Rhaegar at age ten, then he was going to be treated like Rhaegar at age ten.

“If I had known you'd understand me so well, I wouldn't have said a single word.“ Barristan began and Daenerys turned to stare up at him in utter and complete confusion as he stopped next to her, one finger raised towards Rhaegal. “They don't know. Frankly, even I am still trying to wrap my head around it. You apparently know for sure and I congratulate you for having found proof for yourself, but it's not the kind of proof I was talking about.“

This is how you lose your dignity, he heard a voice in his head say, sounding very much like a wry amused Arthur, old man argues with dragon.

“I need something I can convince people with, Rhaegal. I need something solid so I can believe it myself and my idea did not include a dragon sitting down right on top of him. I know you want to protect him and maybe I even understand why, but your mother doesn't understand. And he doesn't understand.“ Barristan emphasized, “You are scaring him, your mother and everyone else, and I know you don't want that, Rhaegal.“

_“You are scaring him, your mother and everyone else, and I know you don't want that, Rhaegar.“_  
_“They were hurting my friend. I just wanted to protect him.“_  
_“And you did, but now it's time to step aside and let others see that he is really not hurt.“_

“You wanted to protect him and you did, but now it's time to step aside and let others see that he is really not hurt. Now, Rhaegal!“ Barristan dared to snap in the end and for a long moment Rhaegal looked just as unwilling to move as when his own mother had spoken, but then he huffed very loudly and with strong whips of his wings he took off again.

Barristan reached out to keep Daenerys on her feet, she stared at him, then at a disappearing Rhaegal and then over to where Jon Snow was staring at them. Grey eyes wide, face pale as snow.

But alright. 

\--

Of all possible conversation starters for the truth, 'Why did a dragon sit down on me?' had not been on Barristan's preferred list. Both Daenerys and Jon were staring at him with confused eyes while he paced the length of the small council chamber with Aegon's old map table. Jon still looked pale, the shock not entirely gone from his system and his eyes often flickered out to the balcony, to the sight of all three dragons making loops and circles in the sky.

Barristan wondered what those grey eyes were thinking, what they were seeing, but his own head was in too much uproar to read other people right now.

The first thing he had done once everyone had returned to the castle, had been writing a short letter and sending if off with a raven without talking to anyone about it. He needed to know if there was anyone out there who still knew the truth.

But now, he needed to explain at least something to the Queen of Dragons and the King in the North, hoping that she wouldn't let the dragons decide his fade for spinning such stories and that he wouldn't set him to the blade of his sword.

Barristan wouldn't fight against either of them, he just couldn't.

So, face first into the pit.

He took a deep breath and turned around to face both of them, sitting on either end of the table almost. Daenerys with her fingers drumming along the edges where Dragonstone sat on the map, Jon was absentmindedly tracing a finger over the borders of Winterfell.

“I don't know how to start, and most of all I do not have solid proof. And due to how things have commenced, we might never get that proof, so many people died before their time.“ Barristan began quietly and Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him, “But I will try to explain as good as I can what I think to be the truth.“ He took another deep breath, thought blunt and honest would be the way to get this mess out the quickest, both, Jon and Daenerys would appreciate no dodging around the point.

“Jon, I think Lord Stark was not your sire.“

Daenerys' other eyebrow followed the first while Jon froze, eyes narrowing towards Barristan. 

“I am sure that things were handled more discreet in the North and that such talks were surely kept from your ears, but after the rebellion the South was crawling with rumors about honorable Ned Stark's bastard for ages. Everyone had their own throughts about it, from the common soldier to King Robert himself, and no one of course dared to approach Ned Stark about it.“

“What...what did you...“ Jon croaked out and Barristan could see the little color he had regained slipping away again, and he wondered just how deep this question must have always tortured him, and now Barristan could maybe answer him the question about his mother but would take his father away from him.

“What did I believe?“ He finished the boy's question, because that's what both of them, Daenerys and Jon, still were, no matter what their name days said, they were still kids in some way, both of them had been forced to grow beyond their years, “People make mistakes, even the most honorable man can make them, especially in a war. It wasn't anyone's business what Ned Stark had done in the nights. I only ever stepped in when someone dared to drag a friend's name into the dirt, because it hadn't been her, couldn't have, the timing was off.“

“Ashara Dayne.“ Jon surprised him when he mumbled the name, „Aye, that one made it to Winterfell, too. The kitchen maids talked about her sometimes, about how she had turned the heads of all Stark brothers, but Lady Stark didn't believe in it and my...my father turned very angry when he heard about it, no one dared to take her name into their mouths after that.“ Jon recalled, memories from a time long gone.

“I believe the same can be said about Lyanna Stark. Am I right?“ Barristan gently poked deeper into the mess and grey eyes blinked at him, Daenerys remained calm, watching both of them, she would have heard the name before as well of course.  
“No one ever talked about Lyanna in Winterfell, except for the rare times my Uncle Benjen came to visit.“ Jon repeated words that he had already spoken to Barristan.

Standing in front of Rhaegar's portrait.

“I don't understand this, Ser Barristan. You tell me Ned Stark was not my father and then you ask about Lyanna Stark. She died a long time ago, she died at the end of Robert's Rebellion.“ Jon's voice got a little harder, clearly unhappy with how the conversation had commenced, „You know the story just like I do, Robert Baratheon believed Rhaegar Targaryen had stolen his bride away and a war...“

“And you told me yourself that you do not believe that Lyanna Stark was kidnapped...“

“But what does it have to do with whom my mother is? Ned Stark found his sister Lyanna in a tower in Dorne, protected by three Kingsguard. Oswell Whent, Gerold Hightower and Arthur Dayne, I know the names, I know what happened next. A brother found his sister dying and could only take her bones back North. We used to try and weasel Lord Stark into telling us more about how he managed to kill the Sword of the Morning, wanted to know how he could have been better than great Arthur Dayne.“

How indeed.

Barristan didn't latch onto that piece though and instead reached for the opening that was presented to him, Jon was growing upset he needed to get control over the situation back.

“Did you ever ask yourself why Lyanna was protected by three Kingsguard members? And stay with me, Jon, I beg of you, I can only beg of you to listen to me for some more minutes. Why was Lyanna protected by three knights of the Kingsguard? Among them the Lord Commander and the Prince's best friend? Why was a legendary swordman like Arthur Dayne turning in circles outside a tower while his best friend, his Prince, was fighting a war? I knew Arthur Dayne, Jon, and as gallant and honorable as he was, protecting a girl, even one Rhaegar might have loved, it wouldn't have kept Arthur from wanting to be right at Rhaegar's side. You yourself told me that you think Lyanna might have went willingly with Rhaegar, so why protect her to the death from men led by her own brother? And then Ned Stark returns Dawn to Starfall and travels North again with Lyanna's bones and a bastard. Where did the bastard come from? Ned Stark had never been to Dorne before, Jon, I know it, we talked about it.“

He made a small pause, let his words sink in before he continued.

“Jon, the moment you stepped through those doors into the Great Hall here, I could only think 'he looks like a Stark', but not the one you might think. You look a lot like Ned Stark, a great deal so, it must have been a relief for him, and the biggest step in keeping you safe. But...you look like your mother, Jon.“ Wide grey eyes looked at him, “I only saw her in Harrenhall, but she was not one you so quickly forgot, not after Rhaegar and the winter roses. You look like Lyanna, Jon, and I don't think that is because you simply share blood with an aunt you never met. And I also don't think that Arthur Dayne and his sworn brothers were protecting just a girl in the Tower of Joy, but someone else as well. Someone who would have let even Prince Rhaegar's best friend heed his wish to remain behind and let him ride off into war alone.“

Silence was what followed. 

Jon dropped his eyes down onto Winterfell on the map, his knuckles white where his hands clutched at the table edge. Barristan looked over to Daenerys, found tears in her eyes while she stared at Jon, she had gotten it, he could see it. There were less emotions and less memories storming through her head, she had the easier time to process it. It was also her who spoke up again first.

„The Kingsguard were protecting my brother's unborn child.“ And Jon looked up after Daenerys' whispered words, grey eyes meeting violet, „They were protecting you.“

\--

“I think I would prefer to be alone right now.”

Jon knew he sounded like a sulking child but he thought he had the rights to it, it wasn't every day that your entire world got ripped away from you and something else shoved in its place. Six hours has passed since those words had been spoken up in the room with the fancy map table, maybe even more, it was hard to tell time when you were sitting at the back of a cave after the sun had set. 

He had escaped from the map table barely a moment after having found his breath again, had ignored how the Queen – his aunt, that woman he had ranted about was his aunt – had asked Barristan on how proof could be found. Jon had fled to his chambers in a complete daze, spluttered something to Davos when the man had asked what had Jon so horrified, something that Jon now still thought had made no sense whatsoever. 

When the walls had threatened to close in on him, Jon had taken flight once more, this time right out of the castle. Davos had tried to follow him, tried to talk to him but Jon had pleaded with him to be left alone. Outside the castle Barristan had caught up with him, he had apologized and tried to get Jon to calm down but Jon had simply snapped at him to leave him be.

The cave had been blessedly empty, work having stopped after Rhaegal's act and Jon was still glad that the green dragon hadn't let himself be seen or heard since taking off into the air. It was terrible and frightening enough that Jon could _feel_ him, feel his insecurity at having done something to upset the humans so bad.

And the even more frightening thing was that Jon was aching to comfort him, but he couldn't because nothing was making sense and so much was making sense suddenly and it _hurt_.

“I really don't want company right now!” He snarled when the steps he heard approach still didn't stop and he whirled his head to the side to glare at whoever still dared to round the corner. The light of the torch Jon had brought revealed silver pale hair and he stiffened, he couldn't really order her to leave, now could he. “I wanted to be alone.”

“You have been alone for nearly eight hours. It is midnight.” Queen Daenerys told him quietly as she approached in the dim light of the torch fire, her tone still leaving no room to really hear what she might be thinking. Her dark blue dress was glimmering with silver thread, almost like a clear nightsky full of stars. “Ser Davos is worried. Ser Barristan feels awful.” She continued and Jon flinched, he turned to look back at the dark wall in front of him.

He knew one good look into his face and she would be able to read everything. He had always been terrible at keeping his eyes from showing exactly what he was thinking, Robb had always joked for Jon to get eyepatches 'so they won't see your deep soulfull eyes and all your secret intentions, brother'. 

Robb was dead. Robb had been dead for years now. 

It hit him then, staring at the darkness in a cave far away from the only place he had ever dared to call home, how long it had been since he had last seen anyone in his family aside from Sansa.

And now that was all taken away from him.

Even in death, people were still taken away from him.

If this revealed piece of news was really true, and why wouldn't it, his mind provided him. You felt the dragon, you can still feel the dragon. And doesn't it make so much sense as well? 

'You may not have my name, but you have my blood.'

His dead father was his dead uncle. Sansa was not his sister, but his cousin. Bran had never been his little brother, Arya had never been his little sister. Just lost cousins now. Robb and Rickon, his dead brothers, they had never been his brothers.

It hurt.

Robb, the only one he had ever really trusted, ever really felt close with. Robb had understood him, Robb had always called him brother, no matter how many times Lady Stark had scowled at it. 

And even worse, the dead aunt no one had ever spoken about, the dead aunt that only Uncle Benjen had ever dared to tell them about, and even that only when Lord Stark hadn't been around. This statue down in the crypts of a woman who had died so horribly and so long before her time. This woman whom Jon had felt he had understood, for he had felt like running away so many times as well, this woman was not aunt but supposedly his mother.

His mother.

And his father...his sire...the man who had taken Lyanna Stark like so many chose to believe, the man who had supposedly locked Winterfell's she-wolf into a tower in lonely lonely Dorne. The man who had shamed his wife by presenting a crown of winter roses to a maiden from the North who was betrothed to another man. 

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. 

Whose actions killed ten thousands and more.

If this was the truth why had Lord Stark lied? Why had Ned Stark lied to everyone? 

'Because' a voice said in his heart, 'Because of two unrecognisable corpses draped in red Lannister cloaks and laid out in front of the Iron Throne.'

Jon felt sick.

The killed children of Princess Elia. Rhaenys and Aegon would have been his half-siblings. And Robert Baratheon smiled at the butchered dragonspawn. And Ned Stark was there, he saw those cloaked children as well, so of course he would lie to everyone, of course he would not tell anyone.

'He didn't want me to be added.'

But why never say a word later? Did he trust Jon so little as to not be able and keep the secret? And Benjen, had his uncle known the truth? Had Benjen dared to tell them stories about Lyanna because he had wanted Jon to have something? He remebered the stories of course, but not nearly in as much detail as he wanted to now.

All his life Jon had always wanted to know something about his mother, just something. Her name. How she had looked like. If she had been kind. If she lived.

Now he might know and it didn't change anything. Lyanna Stark was dead. Ned Stark was dead. Uncle Benjen was lost behind the Wall. Even when he got proof, there was no one left who had known Lyanna Stark, there was no one left who could tell Jon something about his mother.

One answer given, and a thousand more questions added.

His whole life had been turned into a lie. The Stark Bastard they crowned King in the North.

He was no Stark after all.

Jon Snow was a Targaryen bastard.

Ripped away from one destroyed family and dropped into another one.

“If this was not a nightmare, my grandfather was the Mad King. And he killed my other grandfather, killed my uncle.” 

Maester Aemon...Maester Aemon had been kin and they had both stood there and not known a thing, the old man had died not knowing that he hadn't been alone in the last years of his life.

The very Dragonqueen who was still standing in the light of the torch, silently watching him, she was his aunt. She was younger than him and his aunt.

Jon's head was spinning and he dropped it into his hands.

“Are you going through the list of terrors the Targaryens have done over the years? Or through the fact that I am your aunt now?” Queen Daenerys spoke up again after what seemed like a very long moment, Jon looked up and gave a croaking little laugh that had him wince in how pitiful it sounded. But then again, what was the sense in not wanting to appear weak in front of her now. He couldn't be King in the North anymore.

He was no Stark.

Gods, Lyanna Mormont would claw his eyes out before he could even finish an explantion, granted that he ever managed to make it back North. 

“I just need time to think, Your Grace.” He tried to find words to the chaos in his head and heart, glancing over to find violet eyes trained on him, so dark in the lack of proper light in the cave.  
“I think we can drop that now.” Daenerys Targaryen mentioned and moved a few steps closer, she was no Queen right now, just a young woman who was approaching him as if he was a scared injured animal ready to bolt.

Jon couldn't blame her, he definitely felt like hanging by a thin thread.

“Why?” He asked nevertheless, “Because I'm already low enough now? I'm sitting, not kneeling.” He couldn't help but point out, even though there was none of the anger of the last days left. Despite this new kind of chaos in his mind, he felt as calm as he hadn't in weeks, as if something had finally settled in his body again. 

The second he had touched the dragon the storm in his veins had stopped.

It felt oddly like he was cheating on Ghost.

“Because you're my kin.” Daenerys answered his question, slowly sinking down to sit across from him on the cold ground of the cave. Or at least Jon supposed it was cold, he hadn't felt the cold since he had come back to life, only the sweat induced by heat, that he noticed, the rest was just all the same. “You're kin, and I have precious little of that nowadays.”

“We don't have proof for it...yet.” Jon reminded her carefully, leaning back against the rock at his back. There they were, sitting in a cave, talking like they hadn't been more or less at each other's throats just a little over a week ago. Well, revelations about blood relations did that to you, especially when you lived your entire life seeking that bond.

“Rhaegal gave me all the proof that I would need. I would trust my dragons more than some words that some Lord I don't know could be sending with a raven. Even if his blood runs through my veins as well still, thicker than it should be after five generations.” Daenerys pointed out, looking around what was visible of the cave instead of keeping her eyes on him, Jon was grateful for the gesture.  
“There have been non-Targaryen dragonriders in the past.” He cited his old lessons, just to keep the conversation alive, as much as it was untypical for him to want to keep talking, it might make this whole situation seem less nerve-wrecking.

“None of them were of non Valyrian descent. At least as far as I know...or Tyrion knows.” Daenerys corrected herself a little, “And he likes to say he read every book on dragons to be found in Westeros.” Mentioning her dragons made Jon get aware of the pulsing feeling of unease somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Gods, that dragon could sulk.

Just like Ghost, his mind provided him, remember how he disappeared again and again because something upset him or rubbed him the wrong way.

“Why are you here?” He distracted himself from those thoughts, he couldn't have bonded with a dragon, he couldn't have, that was about the last thing he could need right now. His life was already complicated enough.  
“You cannot spend all night out here. It will be too cold.” Daenerys replied and Jon surprised himself when he chuckled. He was sure that he would be able to find more comfort and definitely more sleep down in the cave than up in the too soft bed in the chamber given to him.

“Why are _you_ here?” He changed his question instead, not wanting to talk about his previous time spent in a cave, “You have thousands of men you could have sent in your stead. Why did you come down here in the middle of the night?” He wondered if there were guards waiting outside, if maybe Barristan himself was turning in circles on the beach.

He would need to talk to him, explain that he hadn't run away because he was angry. Just so horribly overwhelmed.

“You're not the only one who just got presented with a new family member.” Daenerys pointed out the obvious and Jon felt terrible for not seeing it that way, for joking about that damn kneeling demand. Of course she was thrown as well. How it had to feel, to believe yourself the last of your line, only then to find out that it wasn't the case.

Which brought Jon back to thinking about Maester Aemon. 

“I knew your...” A quick counting of generations in his mind brought him to, “Your great-great-uncle. Aemon Targaryen, he served as Maester to the Night's Watch. He died while I was Lord Commander.” Daenerys' eyes were on him, it felt strange somehow to go from toxic arguments to icy silence over into almost comfortable conversation.

Maybe more people in place of power should have had a dragon sitting down on top of them in recent years.

“He was old, but his mind was still sharp. He was kind, but also not without telling you that you had screwed up, or were about to. His coin made me Lord Commander, it was a draw until it came down to him. I owe him a lot.” Jon told this Queen who had stopped appearing so otherworldly, and was just human now, “Can you imagine it? Living long enough to see nine kings sitting the Iron Throne? My friend Sam, he learned them all. How many of your ancestors could possibly claim to have been a living King's grandson, a King's son, a King's brother, a King's uncle and a King's great-uncle.”

“Our House...” Jon was glad he did not openly wince at her choice of phrasing her words, “...has a rich history of being so petty against each other that mutual destruction of brothers was more likely than going the way Maester Aemon did.”  
“I'm not going to turn into Daemon Blackfyre now, just to be clear. I don't want the Iron Throne, I don't want any throne, all I want is...” Daenerys interrupted him with a smile.

“To win your war. Yes, I think I've got it by now. Doesn't mean I am still not having trouble believing you, but I might be more willing to let you explain it to me once more. Just not tonight.” She told him and Jon was too tired anyway to argue about anything right now. “We'll have time to talk, to figure this out. To maybe start this all over again?” She asked and motioned between them.

“Yeah.” Jon agreed and breathed out deep, “Yeah, I think starting this all over could be a good idea.”

“Good, then let us return into the castle before Ser Barristan has paced himself into a hole in the sand.” Daenerys offered up and Jon could even give a chuckle. He got to his feet and then offered her a hand, glad almost that she accepted it.

\--

Outside the cave, they were met with two sets of eyes watching their return to the world of a star filled nightsky. Barristan stopped pacing outside the cave's entrance and Rhaegal raised his head from under his wing where he was lying in the sand further down the beach.

Jon had the mental image of a child peeking out from behind a door to see if a minder was still upset at them. Jon still chose to ignore him for the moment to look at Barristan.  
“I'm sorry for running off.” He apologized before the knight could say anything, “It was a lot and I needed space.”

“There is nothing to apologize for. I doubt there is anyone who would have not needed a moment.” Barristan told him and Jon inclined his head towards him, and then turned to look at the green dragon. Rhaegal gave a whine and dropped his head down onto the sand, making himself as small as possible nearly.

Ghost could look like that, too.

“You should show him that he did not anger you.” Daenerys proposed softly, coming to stand next to him, “They are willfull and proud, and you cannot order them to do something if they do not want it, too, but they are also still young. They are children.”

Her children.

'And one of them chose me.'

“I hope you do not think this happened on purpose.” He began, afraid that she might be thinking something like that, “I didn't know this would happen.”  
“I know.” Daenerys took his worry away. “A dragon cannot be swayed to take a rider, many have tried. They choose who to bond with. And Rhaegal obviously chose you.” She added, lips curling into a smile when they both saw the dragon edging closer, still pressed to the ground.

If the dragon acted any more like the direwolf Jon missed so much on this dreary island, he was gonna end up scratching him behind the ears.

“Ease his guilt, we can figure out everything else on another day.” Daenerys continued, laying a hand on Jon's back and pressing him forward with gentle force. “If you don't give in, I cannot promise you that he will not try to claw his way into your chamber. Just because he is quite tame compared to his brothers, doesn't mean he can't have his taste for dramatics.”

Jon balked at the sheer thought of having a dragon trying to get into his chamber while he was sleeping and instead pushed himself to walk forward. Slowly. 

Not afraid, he told himself on the inside, you're not a fraid, you have a direwolf, you've killed a White Walker, what's petting a dragon on top of that still. Just one more supposed creature of legends on your list to cross off on.

"You should pet him. He's just like a cat sometimes, needs the attention and comfort."

Jon's only ever experience with a cat involved a stable beast that had mauled a sock of Robb's to pieces while they had unsuccessfully tried to save it. Robb, Theon and him. Three against one cat. And all three ending up with scratches while that stroppy thing made off with its price. 

Jon did _not_ want to compare Rhaegal with that cat right now.

Or an unruly child because Arya used to bite when she didn't get her way or the attention she wanted as a small kid.

Nevertheless he stretched out his hand, took a deep breath and then touched his hand to the green dragon's snout. 

The ball of unease in Jon's stomach uncurled immediately and as the dragon began to rumble in delight, he smiled without even being aware of it.  
"See, just like a cat." Daenerys offered up with a laugh, Jon rolled his eyes and then needed to brace himself against the ground when Rhaegal nudged him with his entire head.

Curiosity filled him and Jon sighed.

“I'm not angry, I'm just tired. Give me a night to start wrapping my head around this all.” He told the dragon whose one eye on the right side watched him patiently, a deep understanding in them that Jon had never seen in any other animal than Ghost. A part in Jon's head quietly noted that wrapping his mind around this might take longer than just one night.

\--

The young man swept a hand through his hair, drawing dark brunet hair back from his face before collecting it at the back to be tied up with one of the strings he kept on his left wrist for it. Dark haunting violet eyes were showing just as much smiling vindictive joy as the bright smirk on his lips as he made his way down the Braavosi street from the high and mighty buildings of the Iron Bank.

A swing in his step, black leather boots light on clean stone, dark grey cloak moving with each step he took towards the young man dressed in rich light blue robes who was standing at the entrance gate to the harbor.

“Look at you all smug and happy, oh Great Captain.” He was greeted by the one who had waited for him, blueish purple eyes were amused, intent to tease. “Got paid wonderfully again, hm? Though I don't see any bags full of gold hanging from your arms. Don't say you have an account now.” 

The Captain snorted and clasped the hand that was held out to him once he was close, drawing his cousin in for a quick hug while he observed the ships in the harbor. Alaeric Fregar moved to stand next to him once they pulled apart again, standing side by side in the entrance of the harbor, looking down at the vaste number of ships of all kinds.

“My money is safe, thank you very much. Some of my men brought it down to the ships already. Why are you here, Ric? I thought you'd be too busy charming maidens all over the city to notice my arrival.” The Captain chuckled, evading the elbow that came for him easily, playfully he scowled and smoothed hands down his silvery grey doublet and tunic, once he was back on his ship, he was going to change again immediately.

Fancy clothes were only there to impress, not to feel comfortable in.

“Yeah.” Ric laughed with a note of incredibility in it, “Because when the entire bay burns golden in the afternoon sun, no one notices.” He continued in the driest deadpan possible and the Captain's smirk only grew, “I'm here because mother sends me. She has news from her contacts within the bankers' higher ups that might interest you.”

Now that did sound intriguing.

“Alright, I'm biting, tell me.”

“Word has it the Bitch Queen has plans to buy some mercenaries for her cause, apparently feeling threatened by the Dragon Queen and the King in the North.” Ric explained, blond hair moving in the wind, the Captain gave a short sharp laugh.  
“She can't afford us. The Iron Throne is in terrible deep depth, it's way more likely the Iron Bank will hire me to take back their money from her.” He pointed out, smirk turning into a smile as a young woman passed by them, she blushed heavily.

“It seems she has a plan to get that much money. Mother would like to know how we should proceed in case contact is made.”

The Captain took in Ric's words and let them run through his mind, two fingers drumming against the sword strapped to his left, the one he never put down. The one that had been given to him by his predecessor for the blood he had thought him to descend from. The Captain had never corrected the old warrior as he lay dying, if his looks and his temper, his skills and his tongue, his style in battle and commanding reminded the men of the legend their cause had been grounded on, then he was going to play right in it.

His closest confidantes knew the truth, but even they agreed to let it go on, had even encouraged it. They had chosen him as their new leader after the General's death because of the skill he had shown, because of the deaths he had on his hands and the victories he could call his own, not because he looked and supposedly acted like a man who had been dead for sixty years.

A man he shared not a drop of blood with.

The Captain's blood was of the First Men.

He shared a goal though with this long dead man. A cause. 

Putting the rightful ruler back onto the Iron Throne and stop the undeserving ones from destroying the Seven Kingdoms. 

“You know what.” The Captain mused as an idea struck him and turned to look at his cousin, “Tell my aunt to slip to her contacts that the Captain is interested in making business with the Iron Throne.” Ric raised a surprised eyebrow, seemingly not having expected an answer like that but the Captain knew that his cousin was still sharpening his senses for these games. He didn't have the strategizing quick mind that the Captain had been born with.

“See here, Ric. It's all in how you phrase it. If we join into a contract, we will see it fulfilled, it is in our honor to see it through to the end, unless we get betrayed. I will not go into a contract with Cersei Lannister, or the Iron Throne. Tell your mother that I would be interested in fighting for the Rightful Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” He explained his intentions and Ric's eyes lit up, having understood.

“Because that is up for interpretation then and you can let her believe you are coming for her help whereas you are going to...”

“Fight for dragons and wolves. Aye, fight for family.” The Captain agreed, hand curling around the hilt of the sword at his hip, he hadn't fought with it in a while, preferring to not give it away just yet and instead letting his longsword do the job. He had left that one on the ship today, wanting the full intimidating appearance. “I need to go. My men want to celebrate still and if I don't show up, they'll drink us dry. And it's bad taste for the commander not to be there in joyous occasions.”

“Turn up at the palace in the next days though. Mother wants to see you, and my sisters as well. You can't weasel yourself out of this again.” Ric made clear and the Captain chuckled but nodded anyway, some taste of family would be good. He missed his own mother and his uncles, the people who had raised him, his little sister.

They said their goodbyes for now, the Captain promising to come up in the next days, he had nowhere to go until a new contract was made, many of the men wanted their feet on steady ground for something else than a battle again for a bit.

He was almost halfway down the harbor street when Ric called for him again, “What name shall I tell Mother to let them write into a letter if a request comes? Did your men finally settle on something better than 'Oh Great Captain'?” The Captain smirked again, turning around to walk backwards, he had made a name for himself, but he would only give Ric half of it for now, the shortage they called after him in battle. All in for the act.

For a lion bitch anyway.

“Tell her to write Bittersteel!”

Bittersteel's Wolf.

The new Commander of the Golden Company.

And it seemed, it might soon be going home at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering that Edric Dayne is not a show character, unfortunately, I always found him so sweet, I let some book elements melt with my own ideas for his story of the last couple of years. More to what Edric has been up to at a later point.  
> I hope you liked this. Jon will soon have some answers to his many questions but also again so many more questions. Poor bugger just can't catch a break.


	8. Chapter 6 - Dragonblood

Jon woke up and for a long first moment before he opened his eyes everything was like always and nothing had pulled all he knew out of its icy foundation. And then he remembered. Stiffling a groan between gritted teeth, Jon turned onto his side and buried his face in the pillow, he desperately wanted to go back to bed to pretend nothing had changed. 

All his life he had wanted to be a Stark, he had longed to carry his father's name.

And now he wanted nothing more than to be a Snow, to be the shameful result of Ned Stark dishonoring his vows to Lady Catelyn. He wanted to be the bastard of Winterfell again, on the edge of the family but at least on the edge of a family that was still alive.

'I was born to a dead father. Dead half-siblings. Their dead mother. A dead grandfather who killed the other grandfather. And my own mother only lived for another day.'

“Jon?”

“He's pretending to not be here.” Jon grumbled into the pillow and ignored the repeated knocking that followed upon Davos having called his name. “It's too godsdamn early for this. For everyhing.” He complained and reluctantly pushed himself out of bed, he grabbed a tunic on his way to door and slipped it over himself before opening the door to face Davos.

“The men have asked if they should commence mining the dragonglass.” Davos got right down to it and Jon was grateful that he didn't ask after Jon's well-being, he didn't have an answer for himself, let alone for someone else.  
“Tell them to go on but to not expect me down with them. If I stick to the castle or at least close to it, the dragon should not disturb their work anymore.” He somehow got the words out without flinching and upon Davos' questioning stare Jon continued with a sigh, “Tell them to start mining again and then meet me down in the dining hall. I'll explain what happened while I try to eat something.”

'And try not to throw up' Jon added in his thoughts as he closed the door again to get dressed properly.

\--

Neither Daenerys nor Ser Barristan and not even Tyrion were present when Jon forced himself to sit down across from Davos as a table in the smaller of the two great halls Dragonstone had to offer and reached for the bread without any appetite present at all. Others were still mingling around to break their fast but their easy chatter and the clinks of their cutlery and plates only made Jon's stomach roll harder.

Davos waited patiently for him to say the first word and Jon had to remind himself that the man was a father, with sons older and younger than Jon, and as father were usually prone to do, a waiting game was absolutely no trouble at all.

But then again...Jon's father was his uncle...

“I have no idea how to start.” He admitted after another long moment of silence where he simply pushed the bread around on his table and willed his stomach to stay where it was. Davos smiled, set the cup of tea down onto the table again and watched Jon with that fond look he got sometimes.  
“How about at the beginning? In my experience that is usually a good one.” Davos mentioned and Jon sighed, propping his elbow up on the table so he could drop his face into his hand.

“Have you ever heard about Lyanna Stark?” He tried it quietly and looked at Davos as if he could just simply will the words into his head so he wouldn't have to speak them.  
“A bit, here or there. As far as the story goes she was abducted by that Silver Dragon Prince and that was what started the Rebellion, because she was promised to Stannis' brother.” Davos told him and Jon sighed, breaking off a piece of bread and stuffing it into his mouth before he could go back on the urge, it tasted horrible but he had the impression everything would.

“That's about where things had gone wrong in history. A victor's truth.” He mumbled as he swallowed and then sat up and took his hand from his face after Davos had kicked at him with a furrowed brow. “I don't have solid proof, not yet, only the word of a man I would trust in being honest, but you can exchange 'abducted' with 'run away with'.” Davos blinked at him.  
“Are you telling me the whole reason on why that war was started was a lie?” He asked after a moment and Jon nodded, it was true, wasn't it? 

A whole Rebellion, the entire fall of a dynasty.

Based on a lie.

“So, how do we go from a maiden running away with a Prince to a dragon wanting to protect the King in the North?” Davos went on and Jon took a deep breath.  
“After the war, Ned Stark found his sister dying in a tower in Dorne. He brought her bones home to Winterfell, along with a bastard son.” Jon recalled history events like he had heard others done so many times now already, Davos' gaze on him sharpened, Jon could see the wheels begin to turn, “The bastard was me obviously...only...” and he lowered his voice, “We should scratch out bastard son and exchange it with bastard nephew.”

“You...You think...?”

“I don't know what to think, other than being run into a wall by the facts stacking up. It's Ser Barristan who put the pieces together, he says I look like her, like Lyanna, and he was Prince Rhaegar's friend.” And no, didn't choke on either name but the bread he chewed on next tasted even more like dirt. “And I felt something...when I touched the dragon...felt him...I think.”

If Jon had thought that that was just the limit of things Davos could take before he just grabbed the next ship he could find to go home and leave all of this mess behind, he was mistaken. The man calmly grabbed his cup of tea again and took a slow sip, clearly thinking. Jon let him, more content about the silence than one would think, contemplating the bread on his plate and ripping off another piece just for the sake of it.

He knew he should eat something, but he just wasn't hungry at all.

“Lady Mormont is gonna be so angry.” It was the first thing Davos said and Jon didn't know he needed just that until he found himself laughing so loudly that everyone in the dining hall looked over to them. He didn't doubt Davos' words but it was just such a thing to be concerned about after hearing such a piece of news.

“I'm sorry.” He choked out after he had at least halfway pulled himself together again, “It's really no laughing matter but everything has just gone from complicated to just fucked up beyond all imagination and I have absolutely no idea anymore what to do. There is a dragon who I am quite sure thinks me to be his. The Queen I wanted to throttle for her attitude turns out to be my aunt. And half the night I couldn't stop thinking that I want my Uncle Benjen back because he at least remains just what I always knew him to be. The Nothern Lords will take their loyalty away from me and find someone else and Sansa will kill me unless Lyanna Mormont comes before her. Born by one woman carrying that name and killed by another, it's almost like one of those fucking songs.”

“You're still a Stark.” Davos said words then that Jon hadn't known he needed to hear so much, “What do I care what the politics say, you've got their blood, don't you? Lyanna Stark was of the North just like her brothers.”

'You may not have my name but you have my blood.'

Jon sighed and pushed his plate away before letting his face fall into his hands.

“How did the Queen take it?”

“Better than me.” Jon confessed, “At least as much as I can tell. She's been so long without family, and I'm still a bastard.” Rhaegar Targaryen's bastard son, now there was something Jon had never seen coming when he had played at being Aemon the Dragonknight or Daeron the Young Dragon as a child. “I pose no danger to her claim to the Iron Throne.”

“And what do we do now? For the North?” Davos wanted to know, voice getting a little more careful and Jon blew out a breath before he looked up again.  
“For the time being nothing, you gotta keep it to yourself.” He began and Davos was quick to nod in understanding, “Daenerys might say she has proof enough but if I write North with only a disgraced Kingsguard Knight and a dragon as my backing proof, they're gonna take the crown from me because they think I'm crazy, not because I'm not who they thought me to be. And this is not something I can tell Sansa in a letter.”

“Take the day to rest, Jon, you need to do some thinking.” Davos advised him and then with one last pat to his shoulder stood up to go and oversee the work down in the caves. Jon remained behind for only a moment before he gave up on picking at foot, instead his feet walked him down into the gallery of Kings.

He stopped in front of Rhaegar Targaryen's portrait and asked himself why.

Why had the gods decided to be so cruel?

And why had Ned Stark never told him the truth?

How could he have let Lady Stark treat Jon so poorly all the time? His sister's son? The last memory he just as well might have of her?

Why had he kept the truth from her? Would she have smothered Jon in the cradle for being dragonspawn?

He shuddered and looked over to the portrait of Elia Martell.

'I'm sorry' He thought, 'I'm sorry that I'm here and they're not.'

\--

“Wine?”

Dany had no idea why her mouth found it necessary to ask that question as she already moved to get the wine caraffe herself from where it stood in the corner of the room. On a small table with a few cups, just like always. Everything in the castle was as always, as if yesterday had never even happened, as if she didn't suddenly have a family again.

A family by blood.

A family by blood that weren't her dragons.

Pouring a good amount into two cups, she kept her back turned to the other occupants of the room for as long as she could, feeling their stares on her back anyway. Once content with the drinks, she picked them up, one in each hand before turning around again, calmly walking back to the Painted Table. She held one cup out to Varys who took it gratefully and drowned the content in only two sips before she had even turned away from him, and then right away he went back to staring at the table.

This had already been the best entertainment of the day, seeing him rendered speechless and shocked. A sign that even he, that even he who knew everything, hadn't known about this piece of juicy information made something in her curl up with contentment.

She reached her Hand and held out the cup to Tyrion but he simply kept on staring blankly at her, making no move at all to take the wine and wasn't that a sign of his utter shock. His eyes were wide and she was sure with any less manners installed in him, he would have been gaping as well. Giving up on holding out a cup for him, she set it down on the table in front of him.

She made her way back to the chair she had sat in while she had explained what had transpired yesterday, what Ser Barristan had deduced and what they would find proof for soon hopefully. Proof she didn't need anymore, what was a piece of writing worth to her heart when her dragon, her own child, had already shown her what he could see and sense and feel. There was blood of the dragon in Jon, scrolls and papers were just something for the others, for those who would dare to claim to know otherwise.

Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion were all the proof she would ever need.

Outside the grand balcony, Rhaegal was flying loops and circles over the bay of Dragonstone, utterly too happy to hold still for even a moment. She couldn't feel him still and she doubted she ever would feel a connection to him again, not where he had now chosen someone else but she was happy, filled with joy for the sweetest of her children.

Drogon felt annoyed, like a grown sibling not knowing what to do with the over-abundance of childish glee and joy in a younger brother who wanted to twirl and loop and fly all day long. Viserion was quiet, ever since that moment with Rhaegal on the beach, Dany had realized that she should have seen sooner that something had been wrong with the green dragon, that he had been following Jon for days before making a move, and she swore to keep a closer grip on her dragons' emotions now.

Maybe some frights could have been prevented then.

Viserion worried her, sitting back on the edge of a cliff, he was back to staring out across the sea as if he was waiting for something. She couldn't tell what it was, but it was a thought for another moment because Tyrion opened his mouth, and then closed it again before trying once more.

“What?” He managed to stutter out, eyes flickering from her to Ser Barristan, back to her and then briefly over to Varys before finally settling on her face, “What did you just say? He's your what?”  
“Jon Snow is my nephew.” Dany repeated her words from earlier with a smile, it felt great to say it, like she had been yearning to be capable to say such a thing.

My brother. She had known that phrase, had spoken those words. Whether it be speaking with Viserys or speaking about Rhaegar with someone. My father. Now, that she had known as well to defend herself against prejudices. My mother. A longing to have even the smallest memory of the woman who had born her and died for it.

Tyrion helplessly wrenched his head from her to look at Lord Varys, as if he could somehow wake him up from some kind of spell or something but when he only found cluelessness written in the plumb man's face, he looked up at the silent Ser Barristan.

“Prince Rhaegar's son?” He croaked and then groaned and buried his face in his hands, “Oh by the gods, that can't be true.” But then his head snapped up and his mind got to thinking, Dany watched it all with a growing smile how Tyrion's mind must have been going through history. “Oh, of course it was no Dornish tavern wench, it was fucking Eddard Stark after all. Of course he'll keep his sister's child safe from my father.”

Barristan twitched and Dany felt herself grow cold when she remembered what had been done to her brother's trueborn children.

“Did you truly know nothing?” Tyrion demanded from Lord Varys who turned his still surprised looking eyes towards him, Dany could see that it was genuine and not just played.  
“No, I did not know about this. I had my own guesses concerning the late Lord Stark's bastard but I wouldn't have guessed him to not be the man's son. Prince Rhaegar didn't trust me, he only trusted the few people in his inner circle. Princess Elia, Lord Connington, Ser Oswell, his squires and of course the Dayne siblings.”

All those people. Just names for her ears.

Would things have been different had her brother come back from the war? Even if her mother had still died? Would she have known the people her brother had trusted in?

Would Princess Elia have raised Dany alongside her own children? Would she have learned to become a Lady of court under her goodsister's and Lady Ashara's tutelage? Guarded by the best swordsmen Westeros had had?

Would Viserys have found peace with himself if no one had taken their crown? Would he have learned the sword under the Kingsguard? 

Would Rhaegar have raised his bastard son along with them like other kings had done before him? Would she have grown up with other children close in age to her? Jon, Aegon and Rhaenys...

“Who could have known and is still alive?” Tyrion wondered out loud and ripped Dany from her thoughts, “Princess Elia's fate I do not need to repeat. Lord Connington supposedly drank himself to death in Essos after his prince's death. The Prince's former squires died in the Rebellion. Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne died in Dorne. And Ashara Dayne died in grief.” Ser Barristan flinched but Tyrion went on, even if he gave him a short apologizing smile, “Lord Stark is dead. I do not know the name of the other man who came back from Dorne with him.”

“Howland Reed.” Lord Varys offered up and Dany frowned, that name she had never heard before, “The Lord of Greywater Watch, Lord of the crannogmen, a reclusive people. A secret couldn't possibly be more safe with them, no man reaches Greywater Watch without their guidance. I don't even know if the man is still alive.”  
“There is the youngest Stark brother.” Ser Barristan offered up and Dany felt like this conversation was being held above her head a little, but she let them for the time being, she didn't really know Westeros that well yet, and it's history in detail even less.

Maybe it would do good to invite Lady Olenna back. With a contingent of Dothraki and Unsullied sent to support Highgarden's own guards in securing the seat from any Lannister attempts to steal her that ally, too, Lady Olenna could leave for Dragonstone again. And she certainly would be able to tell Dany all about the last hundred years of Westerosi history in detail, along with all potential gossip over it.

“Benjen Stark?” Tyrion asked and grimaced, Dany wondered what unpleasant memory there laid again, “Unless Lord Stark lied to his own brother over their sister's fate, he might have known something, but...Would the North have rallied behind Lord Stark's supposed bastard son if his own brother had still lived? The life of the Night's Watch is hard, and the man was First Ranger, it wouldn't surprise me if he had to long since paid the price.”

“Ser Barristan wrote Lord Dayne, inquiring for any proof of truth or untruth.” Dany spoke up again, simply wanting to remind them that she was in fact still sitting here, too. For all the good that it did for the talking commenced as if she hadn't spoken in the first place.

It was frustrating.

\--

“I miss Ghost.”

It was an honest but also quite random statement with which he broke the silence that lasted between Daenerys and him that afternoon. Their closest advisors were still trying to swallow the shock that they had served them with this changed piece of events and they had both fled from the ever repeating same questions.

Separate from each other.

Their paths had still both led them down to one of the cliffs that overlooked the bay of Dragonstone, Jon after Daenerys and he had simply sat down in the grass next to her and watched Drogon and Viserion dash into the sea for fish.

“You miss ghosts?!” Daenerys turned her head to look at him, though Jon kept his eyes on the sea before them, he could still sense the confusion she must be showing, “I....well I am sure we can find you a haunted corner of this castle. Enough people died on this island.” She continued carefully, clearly showing that she was convinced he was playing some joke on her.

“No.” Jon laughed and looked over to her, apology written on his face, “Not ghosts, just Ghost. My direwolf. The only companion that I could truly trust for a long time.” He explained and tried not to shudder at how long it had really been since he had had no one but Ghost to really trust in. The only one who had never really left him, who had been with him through better and worse. Until Jon had sailed South and left him behind to guard Sansa, and look how his life was suddenly upside down.

“Where is now?” Daenerys asked softly, as if truly sensing the grief in Jon over mourning the one friend who had never left him, the one who had been loyal from the first moment, who had loved him just for who he was.  
“Back in Winterfell. I wasn't going to drag him onto a ship journey that long and then let him be confronted by dragons.” Jon explained, grimacing when he thought about how Ghost might have made a wrong step or gotten too curious, of how terrible it all could have ended.

“I wouldn't have let them eat your pet.” Daenerys made clear, as if reading his thoughts and Jon caught her purple eyes, alight with a bit of lightness now under all that heavy guarding she still carried herself with. Jon didn't know if he could keep his mental walls up anymore, his head, his heart, all of it was such a mess.

“He's not a pet.” He nevertheless let his voice harden a bit, “Direwolves are not wolves, they're not just creatures that are savage and wild. They can be, sure, but not if they learned differently. They are intelligent.” The words were old, Jon had had to use them so often already but somehow he hoped that the Queen sitting next to him would be able to understand.

“And you taught him?”

She sounded curious, not doubtful.

“I respect him, I made it clear that I will never force him to do anything. I gave him my trust and my loyalty, and he gave me his in turn. We work well together, and right now sitting here I know that he is guarding Winterfell, guarding my sister for me.” He told her, looking out over the bay and wishing for the feel of biting cold wind, for the sight of snow covered hills, for the feel of white fur under his fingers.

“But you still miss him.”

“I do, yes.” He agreed, glancing over to her again, “And looking at Rhaegal...I see the same intelligence in his eyes. The same sulking streak if something doesn't go as he wants it.” They both laughed, a sound that didn't come easy to either of them, but Daenerys's laughter was still lighter than his. She shifted her position until she could face him easier.

“Tell me more about Ghost. How did the King in the North get a direwolf as a friend?”

“When he was still very much a complete nobody.” Jon began with a chuckle and told her the story of how the Stark children and him had gotten their direwolves. He told her about the adventures of naming them and raising them, about who was lost now, murdered by the enemy, about the times Ghost had left and came back to him.

“There are only two left now. I do not know where Nymeria could be.” It hurt as always to think about everything and everyone who reminded him of his little sister, and no matter what family revelations came along, Arya would forever remain his little sister in Jon's mind, and he hoped that however she had died it hadn't had her suffer so much, “But everything that happened, it made me only appreciate the times more that I had with Ghost, knowing that for every time he ran off, he always found his way back to me.”

“Drogon left me once as well. They frightened the people in Meereen, so I had to make a decision that went against everything I ever wanted to stand for.” Daenerys told him with a voice that carried pain, she looked up at Drogon with his wide circles over the bay, and Jon already knew which decision must have weighed so heavy on her heart for so long. How often had he seen Ghost's accusing look from the pen inside Castle Black?

“You had to lock them up.”

“Yes. Drogon left, didn't come back even when I called for him. Viserion and Rhaegal I had to lock up under one of the great pyramids. They never trusted me like they did before.” She gave him an inside to her mind and heart and Jon looked over to where Viserion was landing on a cliff further out towards the sea.  
“The men of the Night's Watch didn't trust Ghost either, most of them anyway. There haven't been direwolves South of the Wall in hundred of years, most Notherners saw it as a bad sign. And for the Southerners it was a creature of frightful children's stories.” Jon recalled all the rumors he had heard over the years, the looks Ghost had cashed in at Castle Black and around it.

“Most people believed dragons to soon die out when the Doom of Valyria left only five dragons on Dragonstone from what was once so many,” Dany said with a little smile sent towards Drogon taking his turns over the bay before he rushed into the water for fish, at a far cliff, Viserion was once more staring out over the sea, “and then Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar proved them otherwise. And then again they believed dragons to have been gone forever when the last one died in King's Landing one hundred fifty years ago.”

And now here they were.

“My friend Sam once told me that if the Dance of the Dragons had not happened, we would still be seeing dragons roam free in the sky.” Jon smiled in memory of Sam's excited stories late at night when neither of them could sleep. He hoped his friend was alright, that he was flourishing in the Citadel, that at least someone could fulfill his dream.  
“That and setting them into chains to keep them contained.” Daenerys added flawlessly, some words in what Jon presumed to be Valyrian following that she translated with half a grin upon the question in his eyes, “A dragon cannot be tamed, just as much as your direwolves can't.”

Just as much as you and I can't be tamed, Jon mused in his head.

“But here we are, and dragons are flying over us.” He told her and when she glanced back over her shoulder he had to grin, he had felt it minutes ago even if there barely had been a sound, just a change in the wind.  
“And sitting behind us.” Daenerys pointed out, careful almost as if she didn't want to spook him but Jon laughed, short and quiet but it was there and he felt Daenerys' eyes on himself again.

“Aye, I know. I noticed.” He said with a small smile, “Ghost doesn't make a sound when he walks, I've learned to keep my ears attuned to what isn't there.” And then he looked behind himself to catch golden eyes.

Rhaegal was sitting on the meadow behind them, wings tugged against his side and head cocked to the side as if he was contemplating if his surprise sneak attack had utterly failed.

\--

Dany was called away again not much later but Jon remained on the cliff, laid back in the grass and watching the sky above him. At least as much as he could with the dragonhead right next to him.

Rhaegal's warmth was addicting almost and Jon found himself getting sleepy right there in the open, unprotected from all dangers if not for the green dragon right next to him. He hadn't been this relaxed in a long time and even now his mind was in turmoil but at least his body could breathe for a moment.

And the warmth...

It was like being back in Winterfell as a child, snuggled up against the heated walls, Old Nan telling stories while they all giggle among each other.

And nothing of that was left now. 

Not even Winterfell was the same. Not even he was the same anymore.

Rhaegal nudged his head against his legs and Jon reached out a hand to place upon the dragon's neck, “Sorry. I should quit being so dramatic, I guess. I always wanted to know who my mother was, I just didn't expect that knowledge to turn my father into my uncle.” Rhaegal purred and Jon rolled onto his side to he could look at him.

“The biggest war in the last twenty years or so, fought over a lie.”

He must have sounded desolate enough or pitiful enough for Rhaegal huffed and Jon found himself covered by a green wing. Jon laughed, feeling giddy despite the conflicting thoughts in his head.

“I can't say I understand any of this, understand you and what made you do what you did, but as unlikely as it is...If I left today, I would already miss you.” He confessed quietly with a smile and closed his eyes, let himself be taken away into the dragon's warmth. “Maybe Davos is right, you know. I know the truth now, and no matter the dragon or not, half of me is still Stark.”

And home will always be the North.

His mind got struck with a feeling of freedom and the sun on his back but Jon snorted, feeling sick without even moving.

“Go.” He told Rhaegal and patted the wing still covering him, “I thank you for the offer but no. I think my feet are better on the ground...for now.” Rhaegal huffed in amusement and then took off surprisingly quiet. 

Jon rolled back onto his back and followed Rhaegal with his eyes.

For moons now, he had thought Sansa and Ghost to be all the family he had left, and he had cherished that, had clung to that in those desperate dark hours that fell easily over him since his murder.

'I'm not alone.' How many times had he walked into the godswood at night in those last weeks before his departure for Dragonstone, 'I'm not alone, they haven't all left me.'

Daenerys had had no one but a brother who did not love her, a husband who died too early, a child she never met and dragons the world fears.

His aunt. And he was her nephew.

'I'm not alone. And she isn't alone either. Not anymore.'

Ned Stark may have lied to him all his life, may have kept him from having a life free of being shunned by Lady Stark, but his lie had kept Jon alive.

He was grateful for that at least.

\--

“Commander!”

He sighed.

“Commander!!”

One more sigh before he growled and pushed himself off the cot in the Captain's Cabin, not even bothering with cloak or swords, he only slipped into his boots before ripping the door open. His squires both froze, eyes wide and fear evident, he had asked to not be disturbed for the day, had explicitly told them to go and be of use for someone else.

“What is burning? And I hope for you it better is a whole ship!” He snarled and both boys exchanged a look before Ivo chose to answer.  
“A ship bearing the Lannister flag ran into the harbor. Captain Flowers said a group of five went up the harbor street towards the Iron Bank.” The words tumbled out of his older squire's mouth quick but still sharp and the Commander tapped a finger against his swordbelt for a moment, not taking his eyes off of Ivo.

“I am waiting for the part where I needed to be disturbed. The Lannisters are broke, the entire fucking world knows that, why would their visit to the Iron Bank concern me?” He demanded to know, voice cold on full intent. At the same time he knew that Ric's warning might have come just at the right time if the Lannisters were already in Braavos to ask for the Golden Company.

Had the Dragon Queen already landed in Westeros? Had the King in the North made a move?

And where would the Lannisters have suddenly gotten the money from?

He needed news from Westeros. Recent news.

Daren pushed Ivo to the side with an elbow and a huff, the kid who was a mere two years younger than Ivo but barely came up to his shoulders was way more comfortable in facing his rather pissed off Commander. The boy had a good spine.

“Captain Flowers sent us to you, Commander, because as he said he spotted two Greyjoys among the group.” Daren gave him in a message and that of course changed everything. Quickly striding back into his cabin, he grabbed his cloak and swung it over his shoulders, his squires were soundlessly immediately there to hold out armguards and both swords.

“Ivo, leave it to Daren, run and find Duck for me. Tell him to dress and to find me at the harbor gate.”

The squire nodded and then rushed off, leaving Daren behind to fasten armguards and the leather doublet over the cotton one.

“Are we sailing for Westeros soon?” Daren dared to question a few short minutes later, sitting on the edge of the Commander's cot, feet just so touching the ground. He finished strapping the swords to his belt and pondered why the boy even cared, he had neither been born to Westerosi parents, nor been born in Westeros and still the land held so much excitement for him.

Maybe he should have told his uncles to tone it down with the stories at some point.

“We might.” He gave in answer, glad to see the boys smile when he could, sellsword life was not always easy, even when you were serving the very Commander of the Golden Company. “But in order to do that, we need to be very smart now and use our steps with caution. Go and dress in your second best tunics, you're coming with me but I need you to blend in with the crowds. And tell your sister to come to me.”

Daren nodded and was off, one and ten and eager. He knew why he had chosen the boy as another squire, next to the promising talent for the sword that he showed. Contrary to Ivo whom he had 'inherited' from Strickland when the man had finally died, he had picked Daren for himself after having seen him defend his sister from a gang of boys in the alleys of Pentos with just a stick.

There had been fire in that small boy and the Commander had drawn his sword and snapped at the boys to scramble off. Daren had been nine then, had not known how old his sister was, but the Commander had estimated her to not be much older than three. Orphans they had been, the latest war had taken their parents, so much Daren had been able to explain to him. He had taken them onto his ship then, ignored the bewildered looks of his crew and ushered them into his cabin, he had fed them and then told them they could stay.

He was strict to his crew, his men, and made sure work was done as quickly as possible, a healthy dose of fear had never damaged anyone in a position of respect and he knew even better that he had been chosen as Commander out of respect and because of his skills and some well placed historical comparisons. He was followed because they wanted to do so.

With the children, it was different. He could be strict teacher but also almost fatherlike.

Especially with her.

“Hey, sweetpea.” He said as he felt eyes on himself, turning around to catch sight of deep blue eyes peeking around the door, black hair falling around a sweet round face in soft waves. His mother tended to nag at him for having made her a grandmother without telling her, he had only smiled and thrown Mila higher into the air. He begged the little girl closer, going down on one knee so she didn't have to crane her head back so much, “I have a little game I want us to play.”

She leaned forward against his knee, those wide blue eyes sparkling with curiosity, she was a star of light in the days where tension rippled the lines of men, where disagreements had to be solved by him and his head ached with frustration. Her brother was his student, his squire, he learned from him how to be a knight, how to be a warrior and a leader, but she was his little princess, she was to be protected.

“What game?” She wanted to know quietly as he brushed some of her hair from her face, having her giggle, “A funny game?” She smelled like lemons, which meant their cooks had been busy taking advantage of Braavosi markets and she of course had gotten the first taste again.  
“A funny game indeed. Can you fetch your boots and then meet me and your brother on deck? I'll explain everything then.” Mila nodded and then leaned in to kiss his cheek before bouncing off, the purple dress his mother had sewn for her the last time he had seen her moving with her.

He made sure one last time that the hilt of the heavier sword was well covered before he left his cabin and locked the door behind himself. Ivo was rushing down the pier when he came onto deck, his men straightening from their relaxed position at the middle pole, he waved them down again.

“Something happen, Commander?” 

“Not yet.” He answered one of the lieutenants, eyes sweeping over the harbor crowd and finding the orange hair of Duck quite easily where the other man was moving up towards the harbor gate. “If anyone comes asking for me, tell them to wait. If it's urgent, send someone up to the Ivory Tavern.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Feet trippled over wooden floorboards and Mila appeared at his side, hair pulled back into an only slightly messy braid, clearly the work of her brother. Daren walked slower, daggers strapped to his hips and he nodded in pride over how quick his commands had once more been followed with.

As they walked up the harbor street, he sent Ivo with some messages up to the Sealord's palace before meeting up with Duck by the harbor gate, Mila carried on his hip to not lose her in the busy afternoon crowd.

“Ironborn.” Duck mumbled in a growl and he nodded, “Allied with the lions? That can't cause anything good.” Duck continued as they blended into the crowds moving into the city and away from the harbor. Or mingling as good as it was possible, Duck and Daren were baseborn and knew how to disappear to not be seen.

The Commander was highborn, bastard status changed nothing in that, father and mother had been highborn, blood of old, and he had never known how not to carry himself with confidence. He was someone who was seen, someone who was watched, a face and a presence people remembered and here in Braavos anyway. So he was not likely to rub any elbows with anyone but at the same time no one would dare pickpocket him, also an advantage.

“Just means we can cut them down in one go and my family will finally be avenged.” He replied to Duck's words and Duck grinned. They reached the tavern just in time for the usual afternoon business to calm down a little and Duck was quick to hush the usual call of Bittersteel, Ser Rolly and other titles the regulars would greet them with, best not to give it away too quickly.

He took a seat with Mila at the table in the back that was always kept empty by the tavern owner if golden sails were in the harbor and sent Duck and Daren around to talk to people, to get news, even the smallest of pieces.

“And now we wait a bit and then we play. You still understand what you shall do?” He turned to his little girl, and maybe that was what both of them were by now, Ivo he could see move on at some point once had had earned his spurs, Daren and Mila he hoped to keep close. Mila nodded and leaned back against his chest, watching her brother chat up some merchants who were reluctant at first to pay attention to the questions of a mere boy but Daren calmly showed them the golden hilt of his dagger and eyes flickered in the Commander's direction.

He sent them a sharp smile and suddenly they were talking very enthusiastically.

And then the doors opened and fancy red golden armor entered along with squids, and while the group took their seats at an empty table, the tavern owner turned to look at the Commander. He nodded for him, they would be served, dined even if they asked for it.

One last drink.

One last meal.

Duck sat himself onto a stool at the bar and Daren slunk back to the Commander's side. “They say words has it that the Dragon Queen took Dragonstone and that the King in the North sailed South to meet with her.” Daren reported and the Commander's lips pulled into a grin.

Sweet family get together then.

And now for some entertainment.

“Mila, go on, ask the men about the lions and the squids.”

\--

“I feel like I'm being set on trial.” Jon muttered angrily when neither Tyrion nor Varys wouldn't stop staring at him as they came together two days after Rhaegal had more or less claimed Jon for himself to get some talking on the way.

“No one is set on any trials.” Daenerys declared and set a cup of wine down on the table in front of Jon before moving to take her place at the head of the table, the only other people with them in the room next to the still quiet Tyrion and Varys were Barristan standing behind his Queen's chair and Davos sitting on Jon's right. “Tyrion, Lord Varys, would you please look somewhere else. We've got issues to discuss and I asked Jon to join us to gain his view on things.”

Tyrion shook himself out of whatever stupor he had been shut off in to look at his Queen, “How can the King in the North help us with our lack of a proper fleet? Last time I checked the North didn't own many ships.”  
“We've been talking us into circles, Lord Tyrion, I am hoping a fresh opinion of someone not mixed up into it all might be a boon.” Daenerys sighed and Jon knew that tone only too well from his own meetings back in Winterfell.

Tyrion huffed but then began to lay it all out for Jon, from the loss of their fleet over the problems in Dorne without a ruling family over the danger of losing the Reach, ending in Daenerys' ever growing wish to burn King's Landing to a crisp. Jon had no clue about advice on basically all those things, though he could easily agree with all of the Queen's advisors that burning the capital was not a good idea.

But even when he couldn't give a helping opinion on anything, his questions concerning the matters at hand seemed to already help bring the discussions along a little bit. They were in the middle of talking about Dorne's exhausting inner politics and drama when a knock on the door stopped the talking and Missandei revealed herself.

\--

„Your Grace, there has been a ship sighted.“ Missandei had barely spoken when all heads turned around to stare at her, some more confused than others. Since the loss of their fleet, being approached by a ship was not something Dany was expecting.  
„A ship?“ She wanted confirmed, „Sailing by or sailing for the bay?“ She asked her close friend and Missandei looked around once before agreeing to the second. Barristan slowly got to his feet and saw Jorah doing the same, even Jon brought his hand to the pommel of Longclaw, all three of them looked tense.

But what could one ship bring? Certainly no army large enough to endanger them here.

One breath of fire from Drogon and that ship would not even reach the inner harbor bay.

„Can we see the color of its flags?“ Tyrion kept his calm about him while Varys had walked over to the balcony, maybe hoping to see something, Dany herself was itching to see but kept herself in place and her eyes on her friend.  
„It was said to be purple and silver, my Lord.“ Missandei answered and Barristan blew out a breath behind Dany's right shoulder, Dany herself was spinning her memory around to find a Westerosi House that would fit that description.

Jon's eyebrow gave a twitch when he must have made the connection, still way quicker at this game of inner Westerosi politics than her.

„It is no enemy, Your Grace.” Barristan quietly told her, his voice soft with a smile almost, “Just a surprise I had not expected.“ He told his Queen who glanced over to him, „I had thought to be sent a raven back for the one I sent them. I would not have expected them to send a ship.“ Her mind only belatedly alerted her to the fact that two days were in no way enough to sail from Dorne to Dragonstone, the ship must have started long before Barristan's raven had arrived.

Was that good or bad?

She met Jon's eyes over the distance between them and felt that she saw her thoughts mirrored back in his. 

„Why would House Dayne send a ship to Dragonstone?“ Tyrion pressed, clearly uncomfortable to be in the unknown, „They haven't set foot out of Dorne since they lost their precious children to the Rebellion. They didn't even send someone to accompany Prince Oberyn's Dornish envoy when he came to King's Landing for the wedding.“ He gave voice to his concerns, looking from her to Jon and then to Ser Barristan before finally settling back on her.

„It is a personal matter, Lord Tyrion.“ Dany cut his question short and looked to Barristan and Jon who had walked up to him, „Go, greet them. I shall have quarters prepared. They were friends of my family once, I am of their blood, I will welcome them as such. We'll continue this meeting at a later time.“ Tyrion looked like he might protest but Dany shut him up with a look alone, they had talked at length over everything already.

\--

Lions got provoked too fucking easy.

Reaching for swords and daggers quicker than the Commander could have even dreamed out, and so he was left pushing a chair in front of the small whole behind the bench where Mila had just crawled into while already parrying a blow of a fancy sword. Not that his own was not beautifully made as well, and if push came to shove, he always had the emergency backup at his hip.

He wouldn't need it today.

Because even with only Duck and Daren at his side, they cut down the numbers so quickly that it was a true shame to have even started this, squires gave him more of a challenge.

'Don't you dare get cocky before the fight is over, I taught you better than that' He could hear his uncle's voice in his head as he grinned over slicing his sword along the back of one of the last Lannister men to still be standing, watching in delight how the man went down with a cry. With no one left to pose a threat, Daren engaged in the last ongoing fight and not needing any help – a Lannister Knight, felled by a kid – the Commander sheathed his sword again and then crouched down.

“Who do you think you are?” The Lannister man sneered and then tensed when the sound of steel being drawn echoed from the suddenly silent walls of the tavern. Duck and Daren had both stopped, no more foes to attend to, simply looking around to take stock of what might have been destroyed, which luckily wasn't much.

“I'm Westeros' worst nightmare or its greatest blessing, it depends on who is asking.” The Commander flashed his teeth as he spoke and set the blade to the struggling man's throat, his arm still wound tight around the man's chest, “The Mad King killed my father. The Baratheons killed my uncles. The Lannisters killed my aunt and my cousin. The Ironborn ruined my family's home. So you go on now, you find them in your sweet place in the Seven Hells, and you tell them all that the North remembers.” And he leaned closer, brought his lips almost against the man's ear, “You tell them the wolves are coming for Queen Cersei. Bring them the message in the name of Commander Bittersteel, the bastard son of Brandon Stark.”

He found great delight in how the man's eyes widened as he realized just what they had done when they had accepted the Golden Company's help for their Queen. Just as those lips opened to say words that wouldn't hold meaning anymore, he drew the dagger across the man's throat.

By the time he hit the ground face first he was dead.

“I'm not dramatic, he says, and paints the floor red.” Ser Rolly Duckfield drawled from where he was leaning against the bar counter, wiping his sword clean with a cloth the returned tavern owner had provided him with. “At least you don't turn out looking like a butcher.” He noted and folded the cloth in hand before throwing it at Daren, “Get your hands clean, kid.”

Torrhen Sand snorted and wiped his dagger clean on the dead Lannister soldier's tunic before he straightened up, throwing a quick look over his squire to make sure the boy was alright before rolling his shoulder to get rid of the annoying crick in his neck from this morning. He sheathed the dagger and whistled, Mila came crawling out from her hideout and began to dust off her dress while Torrhen calmy walked over to the counter where the tavern owner was counting bodies.

“Drunken brawl.” Torrhen said and the Braavosi nodded, wordlessly accepting the sack of gold that got set down on the countertop, “When Kevan Lannister comes asking after his men, you tell him that the Golden Company does not accept her own men talking bad about the Golden Queen they are now serving, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Very good.” Torrhen smiled and pushed himself away from the counter again, “You can take all the gold, armor and weapons from these men. Especially those of the lions should bring you a good price with a smith. It should make up for keeping your tavern closed until my men arrive to get rid of the bodies.” Daren set the bloodied cloth onto the counter and sheathed his daggers as well again, Torrhen reached down to pick Mila up.

“You are very generous, Commander.” The tavern owner inclined his head and Torrhen did as well before he nudged his head for Duck to start walking.

“Happy?” Duck wanted to know when they were outside and walking back down to the harbor without anything being out of the ordinary.  
“I'm gonna be happy when Cersei Lannister is dead.” Torrhen deadpanned but then immediately smiled down at Mila and ruffled Daren's hair, “You did good.” He fished out some silvers from his pockets, “Get yourself some sweets and then go up to the palace, Aunt Allyria will be happy to see you.” And he didn't want them around when Kevan Lannister came for final signature that their contacts in the Iron Bank couldn't have made for them.

“Thank you!” Daren grinned bright and happy and waited just long enough for Torrhen to set his sister down before he grabbed her hand and dashed off with Mila, eagerly discussing what they wanted to get.  
“You never give me sweets when I did a good job.” Duck complained and then laughed when Torrhen shoved him left to get to the harbor gate.

\--

“How long does it take to travel from Starfall to Dragonstone?” Jon wanted to know as he walked alongside Barristan down the stairs to get down to the beach, the ship had steered into the bay and not for the harbor village. Someone was intent to make a quiet arrival without many eyes around. Some Unsullied and a few of Jon's own men followed them.

“Up to two weeks.” Barristan answered him, a frown covering his face, and Jon thought he understood why. The letter Barristan had sent was three days old, not enough time to get from anywhere in Dorne to Dragonstone, let alone from Starfall that laid close to the border of the Reach.  
“They must have set sails not a few days after I arrived here.” Jon thought out loud and the older man nodded, a hand twitching towards the hilt of the sword he carried, “Could they have heard? Somehow? A Dornish ally sending word? Olenna Tyrell?”

“Olenna Tyrell hates the Dornish, especially those close to the border to the Reach. She's got some special grudges for the Daynes that I cannot explain, she surely did not tell them of the King in the North's arrival. One of the Dornish who came with Ellaria Sand, they might have talked, but it still looks...unusual.” Barristan sounded unsure and like there was something he couldn't figure out. “Lord Andric Dayne swore to keep his family out of any games, inner Dornish and especially those within the realm, after the Rebellion had ended with two of his siblings dishonored and dead.”

Jon flinched. Ned Stark had killed Arthur Dayne to get to his sister, the how had always interested Robb and Jon, who had never seen their father fight but everyone of course had talked about the living legend Arthur Dayne. Brandon Stark had supposedly dishonored Ashara Dayne at Harrenhall, leaving her being disgraced from court and returning home to Starfall heavy with child. That had never been a topic allowed to be even whispered about in Winterfell.

And now this family had sent men. 

This House maybe had proof about Jon's parentage.

“What kind of man is the Lord of Starfall?” Jon asked as they came upon the beginning of the beach, both of their hands still on their sword hilts, eyes flickering around, a shadow announced the arrival of at least one dragon. Jon glanced up and wasn't surprised to see green scales, if the dragon had in any way or form even an ounce of the feeling for Jon's emotions that Ghost had, Rhaegal would have the easiest time figuring out that Jon was tensed with stress.

“I don't know him well.” Barristan had to disappoint in his answer, “Lord Andric has always preferred Dorne over the rest of the world, most I know is that he's not like his brother.” Considering that Arthur Dayne was supposed to have been the most honorable Knight in the Seven Kingdoms, that could mean about everything. “His son squired for Lord Beric Dondarrion.” The name tickled something at the back of Jon's mind from all the Westerosi ongoings he had at some point caught onto at the Wall and especially in the last moons at Winterfell.

“Wasn't he who led the Brotherhood without Banners?” He tried his luck and Barristan nodded, stopping somewhere in the middle of the beach, in the distance the great ship with bright lavender purple sails had stopped in the bay. The guards formed up a half circle behind them, Rhaegal began to circle over them.  
“Aye, what happened to the boy I do not know. I hope he is alright, he was Starfall's only heir, and Dorne already has no ruling family left to take over Sunspear.” Barristan mused and then fell silent, up on the water, a boat had been lowered and figures were climbing down into it.

\--

The boat that drew to shore carried six people, four men in Dayne armor were rowing and then jumping up ahead into the water to push the boat ashore. The two hooded figures, men if Barristan was not mistaken, jumped on out and dragged the boat along for the last few feet before gesturing for the knights to stay behind as they turned to approach them.

Their hoods were drawn deep into their faces, their cloaks black where those of the Dayne knights were the familiar silver bestitched lavender. Barristan sensed how Jon tensed and couldn't blame him, not truly, only the will to not appear hostile to people he had reached out to kept him from doing the same. Above them Rhaegal turned in nervous circles, like a silent warning but he didn't come any closer, and soon enough Barristan would know why.

A breeze let the cloak of the man one step behind the other be brushed to the side and the sight of the sword strapped to the man's back, it had Barristan gasp and stumble back. He heard swords being drawn behind him, wanted to say no, it was fine, no danger here, but he couldn't find air to speak. Couldn't stop staring at the small slip of milky white where the scabbard didn't quite manage to keep the blade from being seen.

Barristan couldn't breathe as his heart soared with a hope that nearly hurt. A hope he had never even dared to reach for...Ned Stark wouldn't lie...

„What...“ He croaked out, couldn't find any other word in his throat that was suddenly so dry, from behind him Jon drew closer and Rhaegal gave a growl.

And then hoods got swept back and Barristan's knees hit the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing you a beautiful night and a Happy New Year 2018.  
> There will be new content for the Howling-Series as well as for this story and maybe even other stuff in the new year. Thank you for all your kudos, hits and comments this past year, it was so much fun.


	9. Chapter 7 - A Prince's Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of talking.  
> Rhaegar's explanation is not complete in this, but I didn't want to throw the retelling of the last twenty something years into just one conversation. and not all of it is everyone's business anyway, so this is just a general sense of what happened.
> 
> More will happen in the next chapter.

_A breeze let the cloak of the man one step behind the other be brushed to the side and the sight of the sword strapped to the man's back, it had Barristan gasp and stumble back. He heard swords being drawn behind him, wanted to say no, it was fine, no danger here, but he couldn't find air to speak. Couldn't stop staring at the small slip of milky white where the scabbard didn't quite manage to keep the blade from being seen._

_Barristan couldn't breathe as his heart soared with a hope that nearly hurt. A hope he had never even dared to reach for...Ned Stark wouldn't lie..._

_„What...“ He croaked out, couldn't find any other word in his throat that was suddenly so dry, from behind him Jon drew closer and Rhaegal gave a growl._

_And then hoods got swept back and Barristan's knees hit the sand._

„Don't, my old friend, don't!“ 

And both of them sank to one knee, hands outstretched to reach under his shoulders to draw him back up again. Barristan could not feel his limbs, could only stare at ghosts, stare at dead men who looked alive. Stare and stare. Behind him there was absolute silence and he wanted to find the strength to look around, to look in the boy's face and be sure that he was seeing this as well.

To be sure this was not a dream. Or a fever. Or the Stranger's way to ease him into death.

A dragon hitting the ground not too far from them was as good a stunned silence breaker as anything, but even Rhaegal looked surprised and confused. Before he chose to deal with that seemingly unwelcome emotion by hissing, a sound that got followed up by a loud roar from the direction of the castle and Barristan prayed that this would not end in a disaster, but when a few seconds passed and no black beast appeared to protect his smaller brother, Jon rushed out to approach Rhaegal.

And two sets eyes in different shades of purple were drawn to every move.

„Easy.“ Jon's voice drifted over the silent beach, even as quiet as he spoke, even over the steady sound of the waves breaking on the shore. “Easy, boy.” Hands got stretched out to soothe over green scales and Barristan felt drawn to look back at Rhaegar's face, older of course, but it was him.

It was him, undeniably him who looked over his son stroking the snout of a living breathing dragon not twenty feet from them. Indigo eyes wide and unbelieving, lost in presence and past. No one said anything, Barristan's ears were ringing over the impossible and he turned away from the man he had seen die to the one who had supposedly died a very far distance away.

“How? Ned Stark looked into my eyes and told me you died at the Tower of Joy.” He wanted to know and violet eyes smiled just as much as pale lips did as Arthur Dayne turned his gaze away from Jon Snow to look at him.  
“Ser Arthur of the Kingsguard died that day in Dorne, but I didn't. We'll explain, I promise.” Arthur told him and then nudged his chin towards the castle behind Barristan, “Just don't want to tell everything twice.”

In the distance, people came running down the stairs, among them silver hair and then the other two dragons made their appearance as well, setting down behind Rhaegal. All three dragons nevertheless zeroed in on Jon who raised soothing hands to Drogon most of all, throwing nervous looks their way, especially towards Rhaegar who only then looked away from him and instead focused on his approaching sister.

The Unsullied made room and Barristan looked over to see Daenerys frozen at the bottom of the stairs, her feet already in the sand, behind her Missandei and Tyrion had stopped as well. And then Daenerys was running, throwing herself into the arms of the brother she had never met because he had been killed before she had been born.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, lowered his face into the hair of his little sister he had equally never met, held onto her for a good long moment before they parted again.

“How can this be? How can this be true?” Daenerys demanded to know in half a whisper and Barristan could see tears in her eyes, Rhaegar smiled down at her, cupped her face with a hand that had seen hard work now.  
“It all has an explanation, Your Grace.” Rhaegar answered and Daenerys immediately shook her head, reaching out to grab ahold of his hands.

“You're my brother, please, no titles. Daenerys or Dany, please...”

Her name was spoken then but it wasn't by Rhaegar's still so captivating voice.

\--

“Dany?”

Upon the slightly choked cry of her name, Dany whipped her head around and despite it all smiled when she found Jon squished between the heads of Rhaegal and Drogon, both dragons searching assurance in this surprise, Viserion was watching their new arrivals from behind them.

“A little help?” Jon wanted to know, eyes flickering between her and Rhaegar as if he was incapable of keeping himself from doing so, “He's not listening.” As if to prove the point, Drogon huffed and shoved Jon into Rhaegal.  
“Drogon, soves!” She called over to her tallest child and Drogon gave another bored sound before he took off with strong wings, causing a small sandstorm in his place that Jon took shelter from by ducking under Rhaegal. “Viserion.” Her pale scaled trouble child followed his bigger brother after some more glances thrown around. “Rhaegal is your problem, Jon.”

Even over the distance she could see how Jon rolled his eyes but then turned to quietly talk to the green dragon, Rhaegal purred and then took off as well. Jon brushed off the sand and then slowly returned in their direction, eyes set for sure now on her brother.

“I named them for Viserys and you, as well as my dead husband.” Dany explained even no one had asked, feeling nervous for whatever reason, wanting to fill the silence. Tyrion and Davos were staring, Varys was blinking and Barristan looked like he might need a chair. She kept it to herself for now that she had named her son after him as well, there was only so much even a supposedly dead person could take upon first sight.

“It's an honor to know one's name used in such high esteem.” Her brother smiled at her, causing his companion to snort and then easily sidestepping an elbow. Dany turned slightly to look at him, as tall as her brother, as pale haired as her brother but his skin more tanned, his eyes a shocking violet that Dany had not seen in a human's face since that time spent in Lys.

But of course who he was she knew. Maybe the only knight in her father's service whom even Viserys had had great respect for.

“Ser Arthur Dayne, it is a surprise but an honor to meet you. I have heard a great many things about you, Ser.” She told him and he inclined his head, a bright smile stealing itself over his face.  
“As did I about you, Your Grace, it is an honor for me as well.” He answered and his eyes shifted to watch the man who was approaching Dany from her left, violet eyes turned softer.

Dany smiled when she felt Jon come to stand at her side, Barristan taking a step back. Jon's face was paler than usual and his eyes showed a tension that she was sure she would be able to feel through his entire body if she touched his arm or shoulder. She didn't though, could almost imagine how Jon would jump for the cliffs if someone touched him right now.

“Jon...well, I think you know who they are.”

“Aye, I do,” was all Jon managed to croak out in a reply and Dany exchanged a quick short glance with Ser Barristan who could only shrug helplessly, there was no advice he could give here, he was too shocked himself.  
“You have a lot of questions for sure, and I promise I will...we will answer all of them, but maybe not here.” Her brother quietly pointed out and Dany couldn't help but notice how Jon and him were staring at each other without really wanting to, it was growing immensely more awkward by the second.

“And there is one more...man among our party I'd like to introduce to you, Your Graces.” Ser Arthur spoke up, saved the moment and made a gesture to the men waiting a few steps behind him, one of them stepped forward then. He was young still, younger than Jon and Dany for sure, but still already a man grown. Short blond hair and deep purplish blue eyes she could make out in the face of the young man in Dayne armor who came to stand at Ser Arthur's left. “This is my nephew, Your Grace.” He directed at Dany, “Edric Dayne, the future Lord of Starfall.”

“Your Graces.” Edric Dayne said and inclined his head, Dany had by now taken the Dornish enough to heart to know that they wouldn't bow.  
“My Lord.” She greeted him right back, he had a shy smile but eyes that spoke about his wit, he was someone who knew what he wanted and that he was needed in turn. At her side, Jon remained quiet but gave a quick incline of his head as well.

“I bring news from Dorne and offer my services to help you with our politics.” Edric Dayne explained with a youthful grin that stole itself over his features.  
“Finally someone who can.” Tyrion breathed out from somewhere behind them and all eyes looked over to him, “Maybe we should take this inside.”

\--

Edric had always known that he was shy and no one had ever seen a problem in it, certainly not his own father, despite the fact that shy was the very last word someone would describe hothead Andric Dayne. His father had always said that as long as you didn't turn into a coward, being careful was a good trait, at least Edric wouldn't have to learn how to hold his tongue and not just act before thinking.

No, that had never been Edric's problem and he had in time as he grew up learned to grew a spine and someday being Lord of Starfall hadn't felt like a single never-ending nightmare anymore. But even though he had grown more confident, he hadn't stopped being careful with people, family was one thing, but strangers were something else.

And in the company of the Queen of Dragons and the King in the North, he preferred to observe before acting in any way. His cousins would have long since charmed the roof of the castle, Aunt Ashara's two anyway, but even Ric and his sisters had that natural ease to play a whole crowd. Cousin Elianna would have known how to play every single person within a short minute, would have made a truly inappropriate comment or two that broke the tension and then would have smiled so sweetly and beautifully that everyone would be laughing.

And Torrhen...

Well, Torrhen would have been the center of attention within the blink of an eye anyway, even with those actual dragons around. 

Torrhen would have known what to say, how to stand, how to act.

And he would have put his foot in his mouth in two seconds flat, no doubt about it.

Edric smiled over his thoughts and looked around the room, a private sitting room had been chosen for whatever was to be talked about. His uncle had pushed him down onto an armchair and then taken the settee with Rhaegar, on his other side Ser Barristan Selmy had sat down on a pulled up chair, a hand covering his face.

Edric supposed it had to have been a shock. He himself had known about Rhaegar all his life, a tight kept family secret, it was Jon Snow's real identity that he hadn't known about until after he had returned to Starfall once Torrhen had let him go again.

The Dragon Queen sat on an armchair more or less directly across from Edric, it didn't make him nervous, she didn't scare him. He had been surrounded with powerful intelligent women all his life, his mother, his aunts, cousin Elianna. He had been dealing with powerful Ladies of Houses all his life already, in Dorne there just really wasn't made a difference.

And this young woman may have dragons, but Edric had first hand seen the consequences of her conquering in Essos, the chaos she had sometimes left behind. He had fought at Torrhen's side when too many power hungry fractions had descended upon Astapor, ready to tear the city apart without a dragon to protect it.

It had been ugly. And his father had among other things sent him in the name of all of Dorne to ensure this Queen understood that Westeros was not Essos.

Things worked differently here. 

At her side, Lord Tyrion Lannister was holding a cup of wine, the most famous dwarf in Westeros, the youngest of the remaining hated Lannisters, and according to Uncle Arthur's opinion, the only useful one. Varys held himself in the background, just like another young woman with curly black hair.

Sitting alone on the second settee, Jon Snow was staring resolutely at the ground, still ashen pale, his hands were pulled into fists, behind him a man with a grey beard was watching him with concerned eyes.

It was the Northern King though who kept Edric's attention, not just for the fact that his mind was still turning in circles over this revealed secret but also because he looked similar to Arya, she hadn't been kidding there with her descriptions.

“Before I begin to explain even anything.” Rhaegar started after silence had fallen over the room and the only one not looking at him was Jon Snow, “I'm not here to claim any thrones.” The man who had been uncle to Edric for basically all his life made clear where his intentions laid within the first few seconds of what would be a lot of talking. Edric chanced a look around the room and found some kind of surprised relief in the faces of the Dragon Queen and her Lannister Hand. “If I had wanted the Iron Throne, I would have made a grasp for it long ago but that chapter of my life ended that day on the Trident. I made mistakes...too many mistakes and they cost me terribly. Cost other Houses terribly.”

If anyone saw how Jon Snow flinched, no one let it show.

“There is no gold in this world that someone could offer me to even make me think about claiming what should be mine by right. There has been a lot that happened in the last twenty years and none of it has made me fit to be King.” Rhaegar explained soundly and Arthur briefly reached out to squeeze his knee, Edric tried not to think of those episodes, too many of which he had seen now himself. “I'll write it down for you, give you my signature on it. No one will play me out against you, there will be no second Dance of the Dragon.”

“Why come back now though?” Tyrion Lannister wanted to know after his Queen had inclined her head in gratefulness, Edric could only imagine that it had to be a huge relief. No matter how much he disagreed with her methods, she still had gone through a lot and fought hard to be where she was to be ripped away from her path now by a suddenly returned older brother.

Well...if only there wasn't that other thing...

“I came back...we came back to ensure that just as much as there wouldn't be another Dance of the Dragon, there wouldn't be one between Dragon and Wolf either.” Rhaegar pointed out and Jon snapped his head up, blinking over to him, Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow, the Queen had gone perfectly still. It wasn't her though who Rhaegar focused on, it was his son.

His very much trueborn son.

“You're not a bastard.”

Edric remembered easily how Torrhen and him had looked when they had heard that one remaining secret of the puzzle as Torrhen had brought him back to Starfall, how they had stared entirely speechless for a good long minute before Torrhen had started laughing so loud that he had needed to sit down.

Jon looked about as far from laughing as Rhaegar did himself now, dark eyes were staring at indigo ones before pale lips somehow managed to croak out an unbelieving “what”, behind him his advisor or sworn sword had frozen. Edric glanced back to Rhaegar and his uncle, found them smiling, softened eyes looking at the King in the North.

“I wed Lyanna outside of Harrenhall, on the Isle of Faces. In the eyes of the Old Gods and the New, officiated by the High Septon himself.” Rhaegar dropped the wildfire news and Jon Snow was left gaping. “You have never been a bastard, Jon, even if that very lie probably saved your life.”  
“But...” And Jon Snow seemingly struggled for words, throwing a look around the room, holding the Dragon Queen's eyes for a moment before he settled back on Rhaegar and Arthur, “But...you were married...Princess Elia...”

“I was, and there never was any annullments. Elia only met your mother twice in Harrenhall but she could see what I saw, she saw what was happening. For both, Lyanna and me, and she supported it. She may not have understood it all but Elia had a kind heart, love for all was in her nature and she was fond of Lyanna. And the Faith ate out of her hand. Whatever arguments the High Septon had at first brought forth, damning old traditions of times long gone when Targaryens had still taken two or more wives, he didn't hold them up long faced with Elia's determination. She was kind, but she was also still a viper of Dorne, nobody in her surroundings could get away with doing something she didn't agree with. And that included me.” Rhaegar painted the picture and Edric looked over to where Rhaegar had looked to Ser Barristan, the only one in the room who had known Princess Elia still.

And in the pause that followed then, with the words sinking in, with the meaning behind it sinking in, Edric could observe easily how all other pairs of eyes in the room got turned on Jon Snow whose wide eyes stared right back.

Arthur, born to fill awkward pauses Rhaegar could leave behind in recent years, took it upon himself to keep Lyanna Stark's son from bolting.

“Your true name is Jaehaerys Targaryen. If it's not to your liking at all, you have me to blame for that.” He began softly with a smile and Edric saw how Jon swallowed, one of his hands was shaking slightly, “After Rhaegar had left to fight, Lyanna approached me over a Targaryen name for a boy. Rhaegar was convinced you would be a girl and had been too stubborn to see reason to pick anything else but Visenya. Lyanna had dreamed you'd be a boy and she wanted help to pick one that wouldn't offend anyone or hold bad meaning, not an easy task in a long history of Targaryen idiots.”

Edric bit his lips to keep from laughing but Tyrion Lannister didn't hold his snort back, Daenerys and Rhaegar both funnily enough rolled their eyes. It was the tiniest of smiles on the Northern face of Jon that let Edric believe this could somehow not end in disaster.

“There were choices?” Jon wanted to know, he seemed more relaxed when he took his eyes off of Rhaegar and looked at Arthur, or it had to do with the hand that the man behind him had set upon his shoulder.

“A few.” Edric's uncle chuckled, “Lyanna hated about half of them, said they sounded more like actual dragons than people. It came down to Jaehaerys, Maekar and Aemon in the end. Maekar, Oswell and I vetoed on after some more thinking. Prince Aegon was still alive at that point and Maekar's name was always too tightly connected with Blackfyre Rebellions and brothers fighting over crowns. Aemon was Lyanna's favourite, because of the Dragonknight.” Arthur laughed quietly, half in fondness, half in memory, Jon flushed and Edric had a feeling he had been another little boy playing at being the glorious Dragonknight. “And because there was Maester Aemon serving the Watch and Lyanna held them in great honor.”

Jon Snow's face darkened, his hand no longer shaking and instead being pulled into a tight fist, Edric sensed a dark story. Arthur pretended to not have seen it but Edric didn't kid himself, he totally had seen every little twitch on Jon's face.

“But then the death news came trickling in.” Arthur continued on a more somber note, “First Rhaegar and then Princess Elia and the children. And you turned from secondborn son into the rightful King of Westeros before you were even born, and there had never been a King Aemon. Jaehaerys had been the name of two Targaryen Kings, and though one of them didn't rule long, they were both remembered well, remembered in good light.” 

Jon swallowed and he brought up a shaky hand to drag down his face, no one would be able to take these information in without breaking some of their strength and composure. Even Torrhen, the most stubborn and stoic man Edric knew, had completely lost his mind for a few minutes after hearing that one of the cousins he had never met was not really Ned Stark's bastard from some Dornish woman but instead the rightful Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

\--

“Despite this truly being something important to speak about.” Tyrion had a hard time turning his own head around it, thinking back all those years where he had told an angry boy to embrace being a bastard and not let it hurt him, to make it into a shield instead of a knife. Only that angry boy had never been a bastard but a King who had more right to sit upon the Iron Throne than Robert had had, or anyone else who had come after him. “I want to know how this could have come to be.” He hoped to draw attention back on the existence of two dead men among their group.

Jon Snow being a trueborn song of the former Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms was something they could figure out later when anything was making more sense. He doubted the boy would suddenly show interest in a throne just because his blood may give it to him, Jon Snow had his own agenda and it was not the Iron Throne.

And the way Daenerys wasn't frowning at anyone told Tyrion that she wasn't thinking about lost rights either.

The eyes of dead Prince and dead Knight settled on him and Tyrion needed to take a deep breath again befor he could go on. These were men his brother had admired, these were men whose loss had broken Jaime.

“I wasn't there, of course I wasn't there on the Trident but I suffered through so many times of Robert Baratheon retelling the story that it feels like I was. He killed you, Prince Rhaegar.” He let everyone get back on the same page, saw something ugly and hated flash over indigo eyes, “Ser Barristan was forced often enough to confirm the story. They looked you over, you were dead. You were burned on a pyre after the defeated loyalists had pleaded for it.”

“I did die.” Prince Rhaegar confirmed it and Tyrion frowned, saw how Daenerys blinked in confusion and more interestingly he saw how Jon grew rigid and exchanged some weird glance with Ser Davos. “Robert killed me, but the man who burned on the pyre was a Velaryon son, dressed in my armor and my helm. He had died under Robert's hammer as well, and from what I was told he looked the part as well.”

“And you?”

“I was snatched away by a group of loyalists and a Red Priest.”

Everyone in the room turned to stone.

Except Jon Snow.

He gasped and leaned forward in his seat, eyes focused only on the face of his sire for good now, no more hesitation, “The Lord of Light brought you back.” He stated as if that was a common occurrence for some people in red robes to bring people back from the dead. Tyrion frowned at both Jon and Ser Davos who looked way too unsurprised and unshocked over this development. Prince Rhaegar watched his son with curious eyes as he opened his lips to speak again, his voice was truly what Jaime and even Cersei had always described it to be, it drew you in, it forced you to listen whether or not you wanted to.

“The Lord of Light brought _something_ back.” Prince Rhaegar half confirmed what Jon had blurted into the room, “Someone who wasn't me for quite a long time. I don't know what those men wanted with me, certainly not the throne, otherwise bringing me back to life and then ferrying me off to some forgotten city along the Rhoyne was a weird way to go about it. I still only hold the vaguest memories of the first two years after the Trident. The first clear memory I have is waking up in a hut on the shore of the Rhoyne, my head free of all those potions those men have kept me under for nearly two years. Two men of the group dead and the rest vanished.”

“What came next were three years spent trying to figure out what had even happened in Westeros. I didn't speak a word of Rhoynish and you don't get far with any kind of version of Valyrian off the coast of Essos. My looks made me stick out like a sore thumb and no one wanted to talk to me, let alone help. And even if I ended up finding someone who spoke some words in common...Essos doesn't care what goes in Westeros, as long as their own shores stay safe.” Prince Rhaegar explained and Tyrion could only nod to that, he had felt the same on his journey. “I knew people in Pentos but when I got to them after two and a half years, I found their mansions being watched by Baratheon soldiers, so I made my way to Braavos.”

“Braavos?” Daenerys spoke up in shock and surprise, “Viserys and I were in Braavos at that point still. Ser Willem wasn't dead yet.” Prince Rhaegar nodded, a grim smile flickering over his face before he looked back to his sister.  
“I know but I didn't know back then. At that point, hair dyed blue and hidden as some singer seeking voyage to Braavos, all I knew about the events after the last moment I could remember on the Trident was that our family had been pushed from the throne, that Robert was sitting on it. I didn't even know you existed, Daenerys, our mother wasn't carrying you yet when I left to fight. As it stands, I stepped foot into Braavos and found myself surrounded by Lannister men everywhere in the city, it was stiffening and I was beginning to get a terrible feeling. I asked in some tavern over why lions were prowling the streets of the city, and the owner pointed me over to a group sitting in a corner, said they could explain best. The group in the corner turned out to be four knights sworn to House Dayne who had accompanied Arthur's youngest sister into her new life as the Sealord's wife.”

“There is so much I could say, so much I could tell over what I felt after Allyria told me the unforgiving truth over what had happened to our family, to the people who had fought loyally with the Targaryen forces. To my own children. And there is not a day where I did not nor will ever not feel terrible for what happened, none of it was ever my intention.” Prince Rhaegar emphasized and Tyrion could see sincerity in those eyes, this was a man who lived with regret, with pain and mistakes. “As much as Allyria knew, it wasn't everything. She could tell me my siblings lived, could tell me that I had a sister in the first place, but she couldn't say where they had escaped to. And Daenerys, if I had known Viserys and you were anywhere in that city at that point, I would taken each house apart brick by brick to find you. But as it stood, Allyria didn't know and she took me with herself and her son to go to where she knew Ashara and Arthur were hiding in Volantis.”

“Did you try to find Viserys and me at some point? Did you ever know where we were?” Daenerys asked and Tyrion looked between the siblings, as much as she was small where he was tall, as much as their eyes had different shades of purple, it was impossible not to see that they were siblings.  
“I did. Try to find you but we never got a grip on you, either of your locations. So many things happened, so many things moved too quickly and we had to run from our own assasins but I looked. I looked, I dug deep but the people moving you around, they were always one step ahead of us. I firmly believe that they thought us to be spies out for your lives. And after this...after Illyrio Mopatis had gotten into Viserys' head and then sold you to the Dothraki all for giving Viserys an army... I was too late. I couldn't get to you then anymore.”

“Illyrio...”

“Is a bad man who is only out for his own glory and his own success. He tried twice to play out boys to be my Aegon. His own son first, with a friend of mine, tried to deceive him. And then he tried it with me and some Lysene orphan.” Prince Rhaegar recalled and everyone in the room was disgusted by it, Tyrion could see how Barristan's knuckles turned white on his fists. “And though I couldn't reach you, I...we made our own moves. I'm not here to challenge anyone, or to take revenge, I'm here to help.”

“And your help is more than welcome.”

\--

Torrhen crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes firmly set on the heads of the men walking back up the harbor street, no one on deck moved, all eyes on him. He ground his teeth, set his jaw, curled his hands into fists.

“You held yourself brilliantly.” The voice came from the man who slowly stepped out of the shadow of the stairs leading below deck, and he pushed his hood back, revealing short brunet hair and sharp brown eyes. “He's bought every word. You left them no doubt that your loyalty wouldn't fully lie with their Queen.” The man who was clearly a knight went on as he came to stand beside Torrhen who was still starring after red cloaks.

“I want to throw up. I have never felt this disgusted with myself.” Torrhen confessed, the frown on his face deepened. “Making business with Lannisters. If only fake and a means to set the rightful rulers onto the Iron Throne. Kevan Lannister is the brother of the man who ordered my uncle's children murdered, children who could have been my friends. Their Queen had my uncle murdered. This family had my aunt and my cousin slaughtered. This family caused my sister's father to die before she could ever meet him. And here I am, making business with them.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, tanned by the sun, worn by decades of swordwork.

“Welcome to the Game of Thrones, Torrhen. This is how it feels like.”

Torrhen huffed and then rolled his head a little before dropping his arms down again, turning his back on the harbor street and the Lannister men vanishing in the distant crowd.

“Not a game I enjoy playing.” He grumbled and then faced his companion, “Sorry that you had to hide all day long, Oswell. I just didn't want to take any chances.” At his side, Oswell Whent shrugged, smirk stealing over his face.  
“It's fine. Lemme take my energy out on you and we'll be good.” He joked and Torrhen rolled his eyes but also nodded right away.  
“Gimme five minutes and you got yourself a spar.” Torrhen promised and then waved some of his men over, “Call in the Captains for tomorrow morning. I need to talk to all of them.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Torrhen dragged a hand down his face and then let himself be pushed towards an open space by Oswell, both of them drawing live steel. This frustration had to get out. And Torrhen also hoped that Queen Daenerys was better than the mess she kept leaving behind in conquered cities, or that his royal cousin could be a capable king.

Because Torrhen was surely not going to do this for anyone else but family, putting one King or Queen on the throne was already enough of a hassle. He was seriously wondering how the real Bittersteel could have done this again and again with self proclaimed Blackfyre heirs.

But then Oswell attacked and he could ignore this blooming headache for a moment at least.

\--

“And you, Ser Arthur?” Tyrion wanted to know and those sharp eyes flittered over to him, the man Jaime idolized, his mind provided him, the man who knighted Jaime, a boy of only five and ten for his bravery in battle. The man your brother was so proud to be serving next to, proud enough to be deaf to Father's anger over the white cloak.

This is the man for whom Jaime wanted to kill Ned Stark to get justice.

This is the man whose death broke Jaime's spirit so completely after everything that had happened.

“How can you be here with us? The entire realm tells tales of what happened at the Tower of Joy.” Tyrion went on, one tale more fantastical than the other, and depending on how much more South you went, the sides of heroes changed. “One thing they all agree on, Ned Stark killed Arthur Dayne.”

“There was never really a _battle_ at the Tower of Joy.” Arthur Dayne began and even though he was quiet, he had a voice that could get loud. Tyrion saw how Barristan once more snapped his head up, a hope blossoming in his eyes that was almost painful, Jaime had explained and mourned how close Aerys' great Seven had been. How much the paranoia and cruelty of a King they were meant to protect had knitted the ties between the Kingsguard brothers all the more closer together.

Those men had been Jaime's brothers, even in the little time he spent with them in the end.

“Oswell and Gerold...” Barristan whispered and Arthur Dayne nodded, his lips curling into a careful sad smile, he was guarded this man.  
“Gerold died.” Ser Arthur gave the news quick and Barristan's face shuttered down a little again, “Even if I had been down sooner, our old Bull wouldn't have listened to me. We hadn't been on talking grounds since Elia and the children had been murdered. When I got down finally and yelled at them to stop, Oswell, Ned Stark and Howland Reed were the only ones left standing. Oswell is well, the last time I saw him anyway, it was a few moons ago. He wanted to be here but he is following on another path. For now.”

Ser Oswell Whent, the dark humored bat, Jaime had loved his crude jokes, Tyrion remembered. Then as silence once more swallowed up the room with people lost in thoughts, Tyrion couldn't help but wonder if this return, this return of men whom his brother had been willing to follow into death, if this meant Jaime could be saved.

“There is much left to tell,” Ser Arthur went on calmly, “but it doesn't have to be today, much has been said already and...”  
“I need a break.” Jon blurted out and Tyrion saw how pale he had gotten, how ashen his face was and how much his hands were shaking despite how tight he was holding onto the armchair, “Excuse me, but I need some air.” He was off not a second later, Ser Davos rushing after him.

Tyrion blew out a breath, of course the boy would be shaken and twisted upside down, who wouldn't after this turn of events. As he turned to address Daenerys over her well-being, he still caught sight of how Prince Rhaegar made to get up as well but stopped when Ser Arthur's hand landed on his knee once more, instead the Sword of the Morning made a gesture with his chin towards his nephew and Edric Dayne bolted from the room.

“We should find rooms for them and their men.”

\--

“King Jon?”

Edric winced when his calling prompted the older man to flinch but Jon Snow nevertheless stopped in the corridor and turned around, his advisor Davos with him. Edric hurried to catch up to them, quick to apologize as well.

“I am sorry, I didn't want to bother you, Your Grace.” He explained, no doubt about Jon Snow needing probably a very long moment to take it all in, there was just this question that was burning in Edric's mind and he needed to know if there was an answer.  
“No need for an apology, Lord Dayne.” Jon Snow told him with a barely there smile and Edric took a deep breath, Torrhen's existence was a screaming voice at the back of his head but he couldn't just blurt it out.

“Please, it's Edric or Ser Edric. My Lord Father is the Lord of Starfall and I have no intention to take his place anytime soon.” Edric went on and Jon Snow inclined his head as a sign of having heard, “There is a question I have. You see, Your Grace, when I was still travelling with the Brotherhood Without Banners, I met your sister...cousin...and she became my friend. And I was wondering if she is well.”

Edric had expected a lot but not a Nothern face of total confusion.

“I don't recall hearing that Sansa spend time with the Brotherhood.”

“No, not Lady Sansa.” Edric saw the mistake that must have been made and smiled even when Jon Snow went rigid, “I mean Arya.” The hands that came for his upper arms and grabbed him tight, they made him jump but Edric merely blinked over Jon Snow's unusual reaction.  
“Arya left King's Landing? You saw my sister after Lord Stark got executed?” Jon Snow pushed and then looked around them for a moment before dragging Edric into an empty meeting room at the side of the corridor, Davos followed them and closed the door.

Edric would have been appaled at being treated like a common squire but it was so reminiscent of Torrhen's idea of a gentle approach that Edric just followed.

“How long ago was this?”

“Years, Your Grace, a couple of years ago. I left Lord Beric and the Brotherhood a long time ago.” Edric explained and then watched with a bad feeling in his chest growing how Jon Snow paced around the small room, a hand pushed into his hair. “All we heard of the North? About Arya having been married to the Bolton bastard, about you having freed your sister when taking back Winterfell? That wasn't true, was it?”

“No, it wasn't.” Jon began and sighed, heavy and hard, Edric recalled easily how Arya had said that Jon and her had always been closest among the Stark children. “Sansa and I have heard a great many rumors about Arya, all of which have so far been proven wrong. We have no idea what happened to her after Lord Stark died. If what you say is true, then that is the first real sign that we had of Arya surviving at least past her father's execution.”

“I wouldn't lie to you.” Edric was quick to point out and his tongue got the better of him when he began to babble, somewhere in the back of his mind Torrhen was facepalming, “You don't know me, you don't even know my family and I can only imagine what kind of rumors the North has been speaking about my Aunt Ashara but my family has always known about you. Your wet-nurse...” Too much information, his brain tried to stop him in his father's voice but nervousness made Edric unable to listen to it, “She used to tell me stories about you...and your mother. She never said a name but I enjoyed the stories.”

Jon Snow looked at him, not as a King but as a brother who was worried for his sister, Edric knew the look, he had never been blessed with siblings of his own but Torrhen and Alaeric had shown him plenty of times how a concerned big brother looked like.

“Tell me everything you know about my sister's time with the brotherhood.” 

\--

“She's alive.”

Arthur smiled when he saw Barristan snap his head around to stare at him where he approached him on one of the lower level balconies that overlooked the training's yard. Rhaegar had chosen to take a moment to collect himself again, Arthur didn't even want to imagine what was going on in his head, the boy...man, he was a man long grown now...he looked so much like Lyanna.

He shook it off though, those thoughts, there was someone else he wanted to talk about now with Barristan, had been prodded and reminded half a dozen times to do so at the earliest opportunity.

“What are you talking about?” Barristan wanted to know, blue eyes narrowed in confusion as Arthur came to stand next to him, throwing one look down into the sparring yard he still knew like the back of his hands despite the many years away, before he focused back on his former sworn brother.  
“My sister.” He explained and Barristan let out a silent gasp, leaning back against the banister of the balcony, “Ashara is alive and well.”

“But...”

“A story fabricated by my brother to protect us both, no one chases you if you're dead. It made trying to built us a new life in Volantis easier, especially with a boy who just counted one nameday when we left Westeros.” Arthur went on, he knew himself that Andric had probably been a little too convincing in the fabricated story over Ashara's apparent suicide, Oberyn had surely been white as snow when they had crossed paths with him in Volantis. Barristan blew out a breath and brought a hand up to stroke over his beard.

“There was no stillborn girl.”

“No, there never was.” Arthur agreed, eyes looking out over the bay of Dragonstone, looking east where he knew his oldest nephew was waiting and making the right plans. “Ashara gave birth to a very healthy babe. Brandon Stark's bastard son. If there is a grey hair on my head, you can be dead sure he caused it.” Barristan laughed, his eyes soft and half lost in memories, Arthur had never kidded himself over what the older knight had felt for his sister, and he knew in turn that Ashara had always held him in her heart.

“Headstrong like his mother then.”

“Worse still.” He laughed, “But he's grown into a great young man, couldn't be prouder of him. He protected his mother and his sister often enough when I couldn't be there.” Barristan made a surprised noise and Arthur knew what he had reacted to, “Oberyn's. We ran into each other in Volantis a few years after the Rebellion, by pure chance, before Rhaegar found us. I'd like to turn a blind eye on what happened between Ashara and him but I know for certain that nine moons later, Elianna was there. She was the easy child compared to Torrhen. Oberyn knew about her but he never got to see her, the grave got him first.”

“Aye, I heard about that, too.” Barristan acknowledged, glancing over to the dragons flying low above the bay, Rhaegal and Viserion edging their bigger brother into a game, “There are so many things that happened in the last few years, too many terrible things. Too many good people died too young.” Aye, Arthur could only nod to that, he had lectured Torrhen on patience again and again, especially after Robb Stark had been murdered at his own wedding, but his own fury had risen as well, it had been difficult in the last years to keep himself in the shadows and just hear about everything happening. Without being able to do anything.

It had been hard after Ned Stark had been executed, the man hadn't been a friend, but they had at least had respect for each other. It had been downright painful after Oberyn had died.

Rhaegar and Torrhen had both needed a dressing down to keep their heads on their necks.

“I fear there'll still be a lot of terrible things happening until this is all over.” Arthur noted with a sigh and then shuddered, “Cersei Lannister on the throne, now there is a thing I never wanted to even think about in my worst nightmares.”  
“You and me, both, Arthur.” Barristan agreed easily and Arthur thought he looked years older with that frustration and despair on his face, “She was worse enough as the Queen to King Robert but now... everything I hear is just the Mad King reborn.”

And this woman had wanted to marry Rhaegar.

“Well,” Arthur mused out loud, looking up as the black dragon flew up high, away from his more playful brothers, “Suits her just fine then that Jaime is less likely to stab her in the back.” Barristan winced and then brought up a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly again.  
“I don't wanna say it because no one knows the definite answer to it...but if we hadn't left him alone, he might have seen another option.” Barristan pointed out, his voice showing that he may not fully believe in it himself, Arthur took a deep breath and blew it out again, Jaime wasn't a topic he was keen on discussing today already.

“I've stopped playing with what ifs.” He began carefully, fully knowing that at some point it would be necessary to talk about Jaime, to talk about what happened, “I thought I had lost everything and everyone the day that Lyanna died. Now I got Rhaegar back and I'm back in Westeros, back to fight a war. Some things never change. But I also know that Jaime must have had a reason. I know him, Barristan, I put Dawn on his shoulder because I believed in him, because I believed in the good in him and I'm not ready to stop believing in him just yet.”

“Wanna spar tomorrow?” Barristan sensed his hesitancy just right, and those blue eyes twinkled with the youth that always somehow remained in him, no matter how old he got Barristan the Bold was still in him.  
“You have no idea how much I want to.” Arthur laughed and Barristan snorted, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him back into the castle.

“Now, tell me more about what your sister has been up to.”

\--

Jon heard the light steps that crossed over the grass and though he already had a hunch or two over who it could be, he still didn't look away from the setting sun on the horizon, its light setting the sea ablaze in red and gold. He sensed how someone sat down on a rock not too far from where he was standing, effortlessly joining into the silence.

That Jon broke after another moment.

“When did you hear about me?”

“After I made my way to Volantis with the help of Arthur's sister. Arthur told me that Lord Stark had spared his life, that they both were there when Lya...when Lyanna died and that Lord Stark took you North to be raised as his bastard.” Rhaegar's voice was quiet, had only wavered on Lyanna's name, but Jon was almost glad that not even he could keep all emotions hidden entirely.

“And before that?” Jon wanted to know, arms wrapped around himself, not against the wind but against the coldness that came from within.  
“The men who took me from the battlefield at the Trident, they didn't know about you of course, they didn't even know about Lyanna. Illyrio Mopatis, he knew that Lyanna had died and when he said nothing more I thought our babe had died with her.” Rhaegar spoke and Jon nodded, it made sense, even if it hurt.

And he didn't even know for whom he was hurting. For himself? That just where he was at least in some way beginning to come to terms with this new revelations, everything got even more fucked up.

Or for Rhaegar Targaryen who had gone years believing all his children to be dead.

None of this was easy.

None of this was fair.

And Jon wanted more than ever to have Ned Stark with him, to just bring some clarity into this mess...to just...be there.

He sighed, a sound falling past his lips that he knew well but hadn't let himself give in outside the privacy of closed private quarters in a long time.

“Hey.” Rhaegar called out and it was so sharp that Jon looked over to him immediately, meeting kind indigo eyes, “Don't even for a second think that I never wanted you. I did, so many times I was ready to write to Lord Stark or let Arthur do it for me, to take you to us in Volantis and have you grow up in a place where being a bastard wouldn't have been a stain. So many times was I ready to travel to Winterfell myself and take you with me, to go into hiding again but it wouldn't have been fair to you, it wouldn't have been safe for you. It couldn't have been easy growing up as a bastard under Catelyn Tully's nose but you got to live, Jon, you got to be free, you got to make your own choices.”

“Lord Stark didn't know.”

“No, he didn't. He was already keeping enough secrets. If Robert had ever found out about you, it might have...not been the end, not with Lyanna's blood in your veins as well. But me? Robert would have burned the world down to find me, and everyone involved would have lost their heads, Ned Stark included.”

And the silence was back, a little more stiffling than before as Jon thought about what he could say, his head was spinning in circles and feeling Rhaegal react to his unease with nervousness wasn't making things any easier.

“I died.” Jon blurted out and felt those indigo eyes on him immediately as he blinked into the night, wondering how those words had found themselves spoken by his lips. So completely out of the blue. But it was like some great weight had been lifted off of his chest suddenly, like chains had finally been cut away from his heart. Everyone who knew had told him to keep silent about it, except for Davos, of course they had warned him, don't tell, don't say, they'll think you foul magic.

They'll think you mad.

But _he_ wouldn't.

Of course he wouldn't, the stupid Lord of Light had brought him back as well. He had said though, just a few short hours ago.

“I died.” He repeated and turned his head until he was watching Rhaegar Targaryen's pale face in the moonlight, shock was written into his eyes, and Jon pushed on before he could have been interrupted with questions. It felt like he wouldn't be able to stop talking. “I led the Free Folk past the wall to keep them safe, to give them a chance at life, to not let the Night King gain more soldiers for his army. Some in the Watch weren't happy, they thanked me by luring me outside one night and taking turns to stab me.”

He brought a hand up to rub at his chest through his tunic, sometimes it still hurt, like flashes of something coming to his mind as if to remind him of his purpose. Remind him of why he was brought back when his thoughts drifted too far off. “I bled out. Right there in the courtyard of Castle Black. Next thing I remember is waking up in the Maester's chamber, entirely naked on a stone slab. I couldn't...”

“Breathe.” Rhaegar interrupted him, taking the words right out of Jon's mouth, “You couldn't breathe, it felt like mountains were sitting on your chest. You were cold, colder than you had ever been in your life, as if something had pulled the heat out of your very blood.”

“Melisandre, that was her name, she later spoke about blood of kings and strength in her fires, that only those with strong blood could be brought back but I didn't listen to her, she had done so many horrible things. I thanked my gods and never looked back on it.” Jon explained and blew out a loud breath, “Everything since then has been a blur, like some weird dream. Seeing Sansa again, taking back Winterfell, being crowned King in the North, preparing for the one war that counts. And then coming down here and everything in my life has been turned upside down again.”

“I would be lying if I said that I don't want a chance to get to know you.” Rhaegar said quietly and Jon looked over to him, “I do. I truly do but I also know that there are more important things at stake right now. And I will do everything in my power to help you in your war.” It made Jon raise an eyebrow, shifting around until he could face the other man better.  
“You want to help me? Don't you think your sister would appreciate it more if you helped her win the Iron Throne?” He asked, hoping that the confusion didn't show too openly.

He couldn't have known that Prince Rhaegar's next words would unravel a whole new world of surprise and confusion.

“The Iron Throne will still be there if the Dead win, but will we?” Rhaegar sent right back in a question and Jon could almost feel how his frown turned into a gaping face of pure shock.  
“The Dead...” Jon stuttered out for the beginning, then caught himself and started anew, “You know about the White Walkers? About the Night King? About the army of the dead?” It couldn't be, it just couldn't be, this had to be a joke, there couldn't suddenly be someone who believed him.

But this man, this man who was a Prince and Jon's Sire...he looked dead serious.

“I never took the stories about the Wall as means to frighten children. The Children of the Forest, the Long Night, those aren't fairytales.” Rhaegar made clear, no nonsense voice and non-joking eyes. “I was only a boy when I read about it first but even then I knew those weren't made up tales.”  
“You believed them.” Jon whispered, his eyes flickering over to where Rhaegal was dipping down into the sea, coming back up again with a fish dangling from his mouth. “You really believed them.” He had heard the words spoken, he could see it indigo eyes and it was almost too much. Someone believed him.

And not just someone.

“Your Northern ancestors didn't built a seven hundred feet high and over a hundred leagues long ice wall to keep out wildlings.” Rhaegar deadpanned with some amusement, maybe trying to let Jon#s shock settle in still.  
“Free Folk.” Jon corrected before he could help himself, Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, “They prefer to be called Free Folk, they actually really don't like to be called anything else.” Ygritte would have laughed at him, Jon thought, if she was here, she would have never stopped laughing, maybe the dragons would have impressed her but never the people.

Maybe Daenerys, maybe her...they certainly had the same 'do first, ask questions later' attitude.

Ygritte would have had no problem convincing Daenerys about the White Walkers, she would have been rude and impatient in it but she would have had results. And Sansa would know how to act around this Queen, she would have known what to say, how to understand what was being said. And Lyanna Mormont? Yeah, maybe Jon should have brought her along, that would have been a sight to see.

“You have much experience with them?” Rhaegar's voice ripped him out of his thoughts again and Jon cursed himself for them having turned to Ygritte, that was really not a topic for this day.  
“I lived with them for a while.” He chose the neutral response, “My decision to lead them past the wall was not just a spur of the moment idea. They know the real horrors, the danger. I've seen and felt their fear, there are no safe havens beyond the help where they can barricade themselves. They are the only ones whose full support I have against the real foes, the only ones who never showed doubt. Not even the Northern Lords truly believe me the White Walkers are real.”

“Tell me more about the White Walkers. You've seen one?” Rhaegar shifted around so he could get more comfortable, Jon couldn't tell if it was hope or even excitement to see someone actually be interested in hearing his stories. Stories that were real and not just some children's tale.  
“Saw one, saw them all.” Jon began and then hesitated, “Or at least I sincerely hope I saw them all, for if not their numbers could be greater even than I already fear them to be. I fought one, killed one. And I saw the Night King himself, at Hardhome.” He tried not to shudder in memory but it was difficult, those blue eyes, those eyes that had seen human despite the unhuman color in them, those eyes that had haunted him for weeks, who had stared at no one else but Jon.

“The old cursed settlement from beyond the Wall?” Rhaegar questioned, his eyes were filled with interest and grim wonder, Jon knew that look from Sam, that need to know more, to fill gaps in one's knowledge.  
“You truly know about it.” He murmured, noticing too late that he had said it out loud and flushed when his sire – and yeah, it was still weird to think of him like that, too early – smiled in fondness.

“I've read a lot in my life, especially about the Long Night.”

Jon knew somewhere at the back of his head that he should have maybe asked why but he was too absorbed in someone actually fully believing him about the danger that was coming for all of them that he forgot to form the question.

They talked then, about Jon's experiences beyond the Wall, about his fight against the White Walkers and his struggles to have people believe him and follow him into a war against the Dead. And at some point, Jon even forgot that the man who was listening and asking questions was his sire, was a dead man returned just like him, was for all accounts the rightful King of Westeros.

Even if he had stood down from that right verbally already.

When Jon was yawning more than he was talking, dragging a hand down his face, Rhaegar apologized for keeping him out so long.

“No, it's okay.” Jon even managed a smile, “I've got a lot to think about, for sure, but...I think this helped. Daenerys struggles to believe me.”  
“I think a great many will struggle to believe you but it doesn't change that there is a threat that needs to be eliminated unless we all want to die. But do not let me keep you any longer, we have time to talk still, time to plan. You need some time for yourself now.” Rhaegar advised him and Jon nodded, fully agreeing for sure.

He turned to leave then, back to the castle, back up to his room – his new room that Daenerys had insisted on, a bigger chamber in the corridor for visiting family now – hoping to find some solitude there and some silence to think. Every plan he had had for coming South had been thrown off course in the last days, and he needed to get back on track.

And figure out what to write Sansa.

Just as he was making that first step back towards the stairs though, Viserion landed in half a crash on the meadow before him.

“Woah!”

\--

Rhaegar whirled around upon the loud thuds and Jon's outcry, freezing upon the sight of the cream white dragon leaning down towards them. Jon had backed off, tense but not overly alarmed, until he was standing just before him.

It was...astonishing couldn't grasp it, incredible and unbelievable, maybe those words worked better, to see these wonderful creatures roaming over the island of Dragonstone again, so many years after they had been said to be forever lost. As much as Rhaegar had always believed in magic not having vanished and the might of prophecies, dragons had never been part of it.

Too often had he been reminded of the pain and the grief that the tragedy of Summerhall had left in Westeros, how many lives had been lost because his great-grandfather had dreamed of dragons to be reborn. Sensible Aegon the Unlikely, he had wanted dragons so much and had nearly eradicated their entire family.

What he hadn't achieved, Rhaegar's sister had, the living proof now were three breathing giant dragons flying free above his former home. The white one, the one currently staring at them out of amber colored curious eyes, the one left unbonded as he had been told by his sister, his stomach was still a little twisting when he thought to how Jon had bonded with Rhaegal.

“Hello, Viserion.” Jon began quietly, Rhaegar could see how his eyes flickered up to the green dragon flying high above them. He wasn't exactly scared, a Targaryen cowering in the presence of a dragon, his ancestors would roll in their afterlives, he had respect for these animals and he was not going to take their presence lightly.

The name didn't help either, stirring up the guilt that still gnawed at him after his sister had told him about Viserys' end and the behavior that had led there. He should have been there for them, should have tried harder to catch up to them, to grab them from the people who had kept them from him and he should have taken care of them.

He should have stopped Illyrio's voice whispering in Viserys' ears, filling it with false hopes and dreams.

But as much as it hurt, the past was the past and he couldn't live in regrets, not now, not when Westeros...when maybe even all of the world was in danger of the Dead.

“Are you saying hello to family or is this something I should step away from?” Jon asked the dragon who cocked his head to the side like an overgrown cat, a really truly overgrown cat. He was amazed by the sheer ease his son seemed to have in talking to a dragon, it had only been days since Rhaegal had claimed him, but Jon didn't act at all like other people did when interacting with an animal, even an intelligent one.

Rhaegar also dearly hoped that Arthur had not chosen this moment to come looking for him, opponents that Dawn couldn't defeat bearing down over Rhaegar would only give Arthur an apoplexy.

“I might not be the best candidate for this. I only have true experience in dealing with a moody direwolf and four days of getting to know Rhaegal, but I think...” Jon made a pause and then made a step to the side, amber eyes flicked immediately to focus only on Rhaegar, “Viserion is not here for me.”

Rhaegar breathed out heavily and met the dragon's gaze with wide eyes, found himself drawn closer until he actually was walking to cross the distance between them until he was close enough to touch. Hesitantly still, he reached out a hand and then gasped when his fingers made contact with warm scales, beneath his hand the dragon breathed out, bathing him in hot air.

And Rhaegar felt like he belonged, for the first time in twenty years since returning to Arthur, something just felt utterly right.

“Hello, Viserion.”

\--

The door fell shut behind him with a creaking noise that sent chills right down to his bones and he stopped for a very long moment at the top of the stairs. The torch in his hand was the only source of light and he basked in the near darkness with a relief rushing down his body that should have felt displaced in this dark mournful place.

A place of mourning, but also a place of memory.

Bittersweet memories for sure, but Jaime liked to focus on the second part of that word. He walked down the stairs, eyes lazily trailing over the names that the torchlight revealed. Names of history long past, names of Kings who had been great, names of Kings who had been terrible.

Names of Targaryen Kings.

But he made his way deeper into the crypts still, over to where those Targaryen royals had found their eternal rest who had been female or just never been King. There were no grand statues to honor the dead, no grand decorum, just simple plates with names and dates, sometimes a crest or a signil.

Jaime heaved a sigh when he stopped in front of Queen Rhaella's plate, he set the torch into the hook on the wall and then fumbled out the white flowers he had hidden beneath his tunic, careful as not to flatten and ruin them. He laid one of them onto the small ridge beneath Rhaella's plate and said a prayer to the Mother, asking not for the first time for the Queen to have found a better life in death.

Another flower went to Princess Elia and for her as well, Jaime sent a prayer to the Mother, she as well had deserved so much better. 

“I wonder if we had been happy, had my father not been so stubborn.” He whispered then, even while knowing no one would hear him, no one came down here anymore, and the only steps in the dust on the ground were Jaime's own. “I could only see Cersei back then, but had I married you...I would have come to love you, I know it, and I would have given everything to see my wife happy.”

But the gods...and Tywin Lannister had chosen different.

Cersei had chosen different.

Jaime stroked a finger over Aegon's plate and then rested his whole hand upon the one next to the little prince's. The little cat figurine he had carved ages ago still stood next to the dried up flower Jaime had placed here upon his latest return to King's Landing, and he only wiped the nearly turned to dust flower remains away to place the fresh one in its stead.

It was the hardest as always to look at Rhaenys' name, not that her brother had deserved to die any more than she had but Jaime had known Rhaenys, he had played with her, chased after her, laughed with her.

And where guilt over not having been able to save Princess Elia was a hot coal in the pit of his stomach, not having been there to save Rhaenys was a churning feeling that never let him go. Especially because Jaime knew where Rhaenys had liked to hide, he knew that she would have crawled under Rhaegar's bed the second there was a sign of trouble.

It could have been so easy...maybe...if he had just followed up on that bad feeling in his chest after Aerys' lifeless body had dropped to the ground in front of the throne. If he had just followed his gut and raced through the corridors before his father's men had reached the Red Keep, told Elia to take Aegon and run, to hide down in the catacombs, snatched up Rhaenys from under her father's bed and hide her in Jaime's very own chamber in the White Sword Tower.

He could have saved them.

He could have at least tried.

Instead, Jaime had sat upon the throne of his dead king until Ned Stark had entered the hall and sealed Jaime's fate forever.

“I'm sorry, my beautiful Princess, and there won't be a day where I don't ask myself why.”

Maybe he should have acted even sooner, instead of sulking after Rhaegar and his brothers had left him behind in King's Landing, Jaime should have opened his eyes and just given strength to one clear thought. It shouldn't have been impossible for the only remaining Kingsguard to smuggle the Crown Princess and her children out of the city, or at least the Keep. And if not Elia and both her children, he could have at least just grabbed Rhaenys and brought her to safety.

None of that had of course happened.

Later, back in the White Sword Tower, cup of wine full to the brink and all other Queensguard chased out of the Round Room, Jaime scrolled mindlessly through the Book of the Brothers fully well knowing what he was looking for.

Memories of better times.

Memories that came easily when the black beast rubbed his head against his left leg before jumping up upon his lap, curling into a ball of fur. Jaime smiled absentmindedly and reached down with his good hand to scratch Balerion behind the ears, reading through the full pages of his former Lord Commander.

\--

In the frozen white of the North, a girl smiled as the grey head of fur brushed against her foot that was still sitting securely in the stirrups of her calm horse.

“I know.” She said, that smile widening even more as her eyes watched over the grey walls and towers that built itself up beyond another hill, “We're home, Nymeria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask after updates anymore.  
> Feeling pressured will only make me writer slower.


End file.
